


Would I Spend Forever Here?

by Ride4812



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 78,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Summary: King Mickey
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: 

Boredom was the only enemy that Mickey could never seem to escape. He spent his days and  
nights surrounded by people who wished to entertain him, please him, but nobody and nothing  
could, not really. He constantly searched for new ways to amuse himself, to pass the time.  
The Great Hall was packed with court members and dignitaries seeking their evening's merriment.  
Gazing out at the same faces he looked at night after night didn't make him glad; it did quite the  
opposite. He twisted his wrist and admired how the twinkle of the chandelier reflected off the  
metal of his dagger. As discretely as possible, he tried to throw the orb of light onto various court  
members’ foreheads as they watched his Fool juggle apples. A smirk pulled up his full, pink lips  
as it went from one head to the next, hitting each right in the center. As soon as he tilted his hand  
to flick his gleam onto the wrinkled face of Cardinal Woolsmith, he received an elbow to his ribs.

"Quit it," His best friend, Sir Thomas Brandon, warned in sharp whisper, "Everyone's watching  
you."

"The fuck's new? Everyone's always watching me," Mickey groused, slouching down further in  
his throne and draping his legs over the ornate woodwork of its armrest so he could nudge friend's  
shoulder with the toe of his tall black leather boots.

Thomas glared at him with pursed lips and an unimpressed look on his face.

“You used to be fun,” Mickey informed him, continuing to kick his shoulder gently, “What  
happened to you?”

“King Theodore got himself murdered and left your dumbass to be King. That’s what happened to  
me,” Thomas replied softly, unable to stop a small smile from spreading across his face as he  
watched Mickey pop a loose sapphire out of his dagger’s handle and toss it into his mouth. He  
rolled it around on his tongue with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “All of a sudden I became a  
fucking babysitter.”

“Fuck off, asshole. Don’t need a babysitter,” Mickey stated, sliding the gemstone against the  
inside of his lower lip before pulling it to the tip of his tongue and presenting it to Thomas, “Want  
it?”

Annoyed, Thomas snatched the sapphire and shoved it in the pocket of his silk crimson jerkin,

“Every man on your privy council thinks you’re too young, too wild, too violent and too goddamn  
tempestuous to hold the throne.”

Mickey shrugged, nonplussed, “Sounds like I need a new council, huh?”

“What’s this about a new council?” The Duke of Sutton, Charles Milkovich, asked as he  
approached the throne, “Your Grace,” He bowed his head and then stood to look at his nephew,  
dark eyes curious.

“He’s just fucking around,” Thomas assured the Duke, waving is hand as if to push away  
Mickey’s words.

“Isn’t he always…” Charles mused, lips tucked in tight, “Nephew, it seems the Princess has taken  
a liking to the Bavarian Prince, does it not?” He gestured over his shoulder to his niece dancing  
with the tall German gentleman, her blue eyes alight with laughter, head tossed back. She held the  
full skirt of her silk cobalt colored dress and spun in circles, giggling in delight.

“Has there ever been a suitor that Mandy hasn’t taken a fucking liking to? Likes them all too  
much,” Mickey said, bringing his legs down so they were spread widely in front of him.

“If she were to be promised to him, it would be very good for our strained relations with  
Germany,” Charles reminded him, clearly trying to muster all of his patience for the conversation.

“Mmmhmm,” Mickey hummed, rubbing the back of his neck, “We’ll see how it goes.”

His uncle tersely nodded at the response, “There are whispers of your attire among the guests  
tonight, Your Grace,” He began, looking over Mickey’s grey chemise and the open black leather  
doublet he had thrown over it, “People expect to see the King in color, jewels, a jerkin, his  
crown…”

“Well, they’re gonna have to get used to my fucking attire, because I wear what I like and this…,”  
He held his arms out so his uncle could see his outfit better, “is what I like.”

“Very well,” Charles replied with a sigh, glancing over at Thomas who was rubbing his forehead,

“The Lord Chamberlain would like to speak with you about the rest of your evening.”  
Mickey turned and gestured for the older man to approach him.

“Your Grace,” Henry Goodwell greeted, bowing low then straightening out his jerkin as he stood.  
They remained silent, looking towards Charles, waiting for him to make his exit before they  
spoke. Once the other man was gone, Henry asked in a hushed tone, “Would you like a whore  
tonight?”

“Bring me the Russian,” Mickey directed, as he pressed the point of his dagger against his tattooed  
knuckles and traced the letters slowly.

“You like her,” Thomas teased, grinning at his friend whose blue eyes shot up to bore into him,  
“You always ask for her.”

“I like her enough,” Mickey conceded, expression softening at the knowing nod he received from  
Thomas.

“I’ll ensure that she is in your chambers when you are ready to retire for the evening,” Henry  
stated, “Are you satisfied with just her or shall I bring another as well?”

“Just her will be fine,” He replied, going back to his outlining, “I’m fucking over this, so I’ll be  
making my way upstairs soon.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Henry nodded, bowing again before he went to make the arrangements.

“I like her?” Mickey challenged, raising his eyebrows and looking at Thomas with amusement.

“You don’t?” Thomas laughed, his brown eyes bright. He reached into his pocket and rubbed the  
sapphire between the pads of his fingers.

“Her tits are too big and her pussy’s too wet,” Mickey responded bluntly, “She’s not for me.”

“And yet she still joins you in your chambers,” Thomas tisked, with a shake of his head, “Can the  
King himself not find pleasure?”

“Ain’t easy to be a King around here,” He said, adjusting his boots and sheathing his dagger,  
“Gotta have babysitters and shit.”

Thomas rolled his eyes playfully, “Tomorrow morning the new ambassadors from both Ireland  
and France. They both have sons that will be joining your court.”

“And I give a shit why?” Mickey asked, tilting his head as Thomas moved closer to whisper into  
his ear.

“I hear that one of the sons is quite beautiful and quite enjoys the company of other men,” He  
informed him, warm breath tickling his skin.

“Is that right?” Mickey raised his eyebrows with interest, “Then I should have his head.”

“Maybe you will,” Thomas smirked, sitting up to take a sip of his wine, well aware that Mickey  
wasn’t referencing sending the gentleman on a date with the executioner.

Without another word, Mickey rose from his throne, grinning as the room grew quiet and the  
revelry halted at his movement.

Henry cleared his throat and announced, “His Majesty, King Mikhailo bids you all a goodnight  
and prays that you continue to enjoy the festivities in his absence.” A soft whoosh could be heard  
all the men bowed and the women curtsied. Mickey nodded his head to the attendees in the grand  
room and then waved them to stand, turning around so he could stealthy throw his finger up at  
Thomas, his typical farewell.

“Fuck,” Thomas sighed, shaking his head at the formidable handful Mickey was.

The King made his way through the ballroom that was now bathed in soft amber hue as the  
candles burned low and the heavy ivory curtains were drawn closed. Three of his guards and  
Henry followed him down the hallway and up the narrow stone stairwell that led to his chambers.  
He waited for the two men who were assigned chamber duty to bow and then open the heavy  
wooden door. When he walked into the bedroom he saw Svetlana sitting on the bed, half cloaked  
by the heavy, red velvet fabric that was swathed from the four posts. She climbed off the bed  
quickly so she could curtsey down to her knees, her chest heaving out of the tight bodice of the  
green dress she was wearing.

“Shall we dress you in your night clothes, Your Grace?” Henry asked, trying to avert his eyes  
from the tempting cleavage.

“Told you a million fucking times that I can do that shit on my own, Henry,” Mickey chided,  
signaling for Svetlana to stand up.

“Very well, sir,” He nodded, “We’ll see ourselves out if that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Mickey confirmed, watching as he Henry and the guards exited, shutting the door  
behind them.

“Did you bring it?” Mickey asked, removing his doublet and sitting on the edge of the bed so he  
could tug off his boots.

“Do you think I would forget such a thing, Mick?” She questioned, lifting one of her eyebrows  
and smirking as she began to loosen her corset.

“I’d hope not,” Mickey replied wryly, “Figured you like your neck enough to keep it attached to  
your fucking head.”

She laughed lightly and patted his cheek, “Threats, threats. They don’t work on me. You know  
this.”

“They shouldn’t. Come the fuck on,” He urged growing impatient. He ignored Svetlana’s  
undergarments, a broad smile stretching across his face when she reached between her breasts to  
pull out a smooth, wooden dildo.

“The woodworker told me it is his best work,” She stated, handing it over to Mickey who  
examined it and shook his head appreciatively.

“Looks pretty fucking good,” He assessed, loving how weighty it felt in his hand, “Better than the  
piece of shit you brought last time. Think I still got a splinter up there.”

“Luke rots in the Tower for his mistakes and he does not even know what these mistakes were,”  
She said with a dramatic sigh.

“Luke’s fucking alive, so Luke’s doing just fucking fine,” Mickey snapped, untying the leather  
that was holding up his pants, “Any of those geriatric motherfuckers give you any information that  
I should know last night?”

Svetlana shook her head, “It was a very quiet night actually. I was able to relax and take a bath.”

“Great,” Mickey said rolling his eyes, “I still need to know what’s going on.”

“I know this, I’m keeping my ears and legs open.”

“Just as you should.”

“Would you like me to…” She asked, reaching for the dildo.

“I’d like you to make a racket like I just fucked your brains out and then get the hell outta here,”  
Mickey responded, biting his lip devilishly. He stifled his laughter as Svetlana let out a chorus of  
room shaking moans followed by a high pitched shriek, “That what you sound like?”

“Only with the King,” She replied with a wink, standing up to tie up her dress, “I will see you  
tomorrow night?”

“If you got anything to share,” Mickey replied, taking off his shirt so Svetlana could gaze at his  
strong, broad chest.

“It is a shame that you do not like me,” Svetlana stated, very obviously appreciating his fit body.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey grunted, growing impatient, “Hand me my oil and fuck off.”

She crossed the room to bring Mickey a bottle of oil, tussled up her hair and gave him a kiss on his  
cheek, “Enjoy yourself my King.”

“Really?” Mickey grumbled, shooing her out.

She gave him one last smile before drawing his curtains closed and softly rapping on the door,

“The King sleeps now,” She said plainly when one of the brawny guards opened the door so she  
could exit.

“Would you like me to walk you to your chambers?” Henry offered, looking at her lecherously.

“Yes we can do this,” She agreed.

“Do not enter his chambers unless His Majesty calls for you,” Henry reminded the two guards  
standing tall in front of Mickey’s bedroom. They saluted and crossing their arms over their chests  
remembering very vividly what happened to the guard that mistook one of Mickey’s groans for a  
request of their presence.

When the King was happy all was well, but when he was angry… the guards knew to hold on to  
their heads.

Chapter Two:

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut as the curtains around his bed were pulled open and sunlight  
poured onto his face. Cursing his eyelids for failing to block the glaring rays, he yanked his sheet  
up over his head.

"Rise and shine!" Mandy chirped, continuing to move the heavy drapes, "It's a beautiful day." He  
felt the bed dip as Mandy climbed onto it and then heard her dissolve into a fit of giggles, "Really,  
Mick? Where'd you get this one?"

Mickey peeked out, grabbed his new dildo from where it was lying beside him, and shoved it  
quickly under his pillow, "None of your fucking business is where I got it," He grumbled.

"Get me one," She prompted, tugging his covers down so she could pinch his cheek.

"You get enough fucking cock, don't got any time to use it," Mickey stated, smacking her hand  
away before rubbing his forehead and yawning.

"You jealous?" Mandy teased, resting her head on his pillow next to him, "Hans is cute, right?"

"Fuck off," Mickey shot. Ever since Mandy learned of his proclivities, she attempted to engage  
him in gab sessions about the men of the court. He most certainly wasn't interested in that type of  
conversation, especially with his sister, "You wanna marry him? Charles said it would be good for  
our relationship with Germany."

"Nope. I'm not ready to settle down. Told you that," She replied, beginning to braid her long, dark  
locks.

"They're fucking pressuring me to promise you to someone," Mickey groused, sitting up and  
belching loudly.

"Not yet," Mandy said shaking her head, "They're not worried about you taking a wife? It's all  
anyone talks about around court."

"They are, but then I bring your ass up to change the subject." He raised his eyebrows then  
laughed when Mandy smacked him on the back.

He was just about to retaliate when they heard a gentle knock on the door. Mickey cleared his  
throat before calling, "Come in."

"Your Grace, Her Royal Highness," Henry bowed, "I have Cardinal Woolsmith to see you, King.  
He wishes to speak with you about the festivities of the day. Would you like me to tell him you're  
currently indisposed?"

"He can come in," Mickey said, standing up and wrapping himself in his indigo silk robe.

"That's my cue," Mandy stated, jumping out of the bed and hurrying out of the room.

Mickey rolled his eyes and shook his head at his sister's lack of reverence for the Cardinal. He had  
been more of a father to them than Theodore ever was. Mickey could remember studying the  
Bible with him when he was a young boy. Cardinal would sneak him sweatmeats like gingerbread  
and marzipan when he got all of his answers correct. He was the only person who consistently  
told Mickey he was proud of him and spoke highly of his good qualities to others. When it came  
down to it, Cardinal was the only person that Mickey worried about disappointing.

"Your Grace," the old man greeted, attempting to bow though brittle bones had him struggling.

"Told you to stop doing that," Mickey said softly, walking over to help the man straighten himself  
out.

"If I do not respect our customs, who will?" Cardinal asked pointedly and Mickey knew it was a  
not so subtle dig at him.

"What did I do wrong this time?" He sighed, guiding the man over to a chair so he could rest.  
Mickey sat on the edge of the bed facing him, hunched over so his elbows rested on his knees.

"Every time you disregard the traditions, Mikhailo, the vultures taste a bit more of your blood.  
Don't you see them circling?" He asked, dabbing his nostril with his handkerchief, "They're just  
waiting to tear you apart. Stop giving them reasons to."

Mickey nodded and gnawed on the inside of his cheek, "What d'you want me to do?"

"Wear your crown today when you meet the new ambassadors from Ireland and France. Show  
them you are a King worthy of respect and esteem," He paused before adding, "And a jerkin."

"Gonna be my black one if I do," Mickey stated matter-of-factly, eyebrows raised.

"It could be pink for all I care, just wear one," The Cardinal said, blowing his nose loudly,  
"Pardon me."

"You feeling alright? Want me to call the physician?” He questioned, worry clouding his ocean  
blue eyes.

"I'm fine. It is just old age," He said waving away Mickey's concerns, "Have you given any  
thought to having the Spanish Princess visit? Ambassador De La Torre is trying to arrange a  
meeting."

"Ain't in the mindset to start dealing with that shit right now." The Cardinal frowned at his casual  
language and Mickey corrected himself, "that stuff right now."

The old man nodded his understanding but reminded Mickey that, "the vultures are always  
looking for fresh wounds."

Mickey bobbed his head. Though he was meant to have the utmost trust in his privy council,  
Mickey knew that many were not worthy of his confidence. The most senior members were the  
Cardinal and his uncle and while one man had his back, Mickey was aware the other wished to  
stab him in it.

Charles had cursed Theodore since the day he exited the Queen's womb two years too late to be  
well positioned in the order of succession. While Theodore was impulsive and reactive, Charles  
was pragmatic and even-keeled. He showed the qualities of a natural leader from an early age.  
Though he was not King, he had earned more respect from fellow nobles than his brother had  
ever been able to garner. Still, it was well known that Charles was as bitter as a lemon over his  
positioning in the family. After Theodore was poisoned, rumors seeped from the castle walls that  
Charles may have been behind it. Mickey was unsure if his uncle had the gall to kill the King, but  
he couldn’t rule out that it was a possibility, so he remained highly vigilant where Charles and his  
son Sullivan were concerned.

“I know,” Mickey assured him, watching as the elder struggled to stand from the chair. He  
approached so he could assist him, “I’ll figure something out.” He sniffed uncomfortably, finding  
discussions about taking a wife, even when they were had with the Cardinal, were hardly bearable  
for him.

“You do not have to love the woman you choose,” Cardinal reminded him, as they walked  
towards the door, “You just have to give her a son.”

“That simple, huh?” Mickey asked, a look of dread washing over his face.

“That simple,” The older man assured him, resting a wrinkled hand on Mickey’s cheek and gazing  
softly into his eyes, “You always make me proud, Mikhailo.”

Mickey nodded, swallowing down the emotion that was rising in his throat. He knocked on the  
door and a guard opened it to escort the Cardinal out. Once he was alone in his chambers he  
tucked the dildo into his nightstand and screamed, “Henry!”

His chamberlain was quick to enter his chambers and drop down to bow, “Your Grace.”

“Tell my attendants I need my dark leather jerkin and my crown,” Mickey said, biting his  
fingernail and spitting the sliver that came off on to the floor, “I’ll wear them today.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Henry bowed again and got to work on passing on the King’s request.

Once he was dressed, Mickey, Henry and two guards made their way down the narrow staircase  
and through the grand hallways to the Throne Room. Mickey waited until he was announced to  
enter and unceremoniously toss himself down on his throne. The dignitaries of his court and his  
Privy Council were the first to raise their heads, while the guests’ remained low. A flash of red  
hair drew Mickey’s eyes. He’d never seen a person possess such vibrant locks. The hue was akin  
to a blend of candied stone fruits, his favorite sweetmeats.

“You may rise,” Lord Barkley directed.

Mickey kept his eyes trained on the man with the nectarous hair, stunned that the color dimmed in  
comparison to the exquisiteness of his face; the slope of his nose, the strength of his jaw, eyes  
more brilliant than the most precious emeralds. His pale skin would trick people to believe he was  
of immense wealth and had never worked a day in his life, but his hands told another story. They  
were rough and capable with wide palms and long calloused fingers. He was tall as he was firm,  
with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was beautiful.

“Your Grace, may I present to you the ambassador from France, His Excellency, Louis Moreau  
and his son Chevalier Jacque Moreau,” They both bowed again and Mickey nodded his  
acknowledgment.

“I look forward to representing France in your magnificent castle. It is the most gorgeous I have  
ever laid my eyes on,” Louis complimented.

“Would you tell your King that my castle is more impressive than his?” Mickey asked with a  
smirk, his eyebrows raised in amusement, “Don’t think you would.”

He could hear Mandy stifling a laugh as the man stood wide eyed, unsure of how to respond.  
Lord Barkely continued on, “Your Grace, may I also present to you the ambassador from Ireland,  
His Excellency, Francis Gallagher and his sons Sir Phillip Gallagher and Sir Ian Gallagher.”  
Mickey watched as they bowed their heads, noticing that the curly haired man, Phillip, and his  
father were quick to raise theirs while Ian kept his dipped. He tried to hold back a smirk when he  
saw Phillip elbow his brother so he’d lift up. As the redhead did, his eyes burned intensely into  
Mickey’s, stripping his lips of any amusement and causing them instead to part as his breath  
hitched. They held their stare for a moment too long, before Ian averted his eyes, looking down at  
his brown leather boots.

Francis was rambling adulations that Mickey was paying no attention to. Thomas pushed out a  
cough to remind the King that he was always on display. In response, Mickey forced himself to  
peel his gaze from Ian and looked over at his best friend. They didn’t exchange any words, due to  
the distance between them, but Thomas could read his face like a book. He shrugged his shoulder  
to indicate that he wasn’t sure if Ian was the man he had relayed the rumors about the day before.  
All three of the ambassadors’ sons were attractive, further complicating the situation.

“Your Grace,” Lord Barkley began, speaking a bit louder to get Mickey’s attention, “Your  
Grace.”

Mickey snapped his head towards him, “I will have the attendants show the men to their chambers  
unless you would like to make a statement.”

“Um,” Mickey cleared his throat and sat up straight in his throne. He never knew what to say  
when he was supposed to greet dignitaries and ambassadors in a formal way. Cardinal Woolsmith  
had probably gone over it with him several hundred times, but he never gave a shit enough to pay  
attention. In that moment, he wished he had. “Welcome. I’m holding a banquet in your honor  
tonight in the Great Hall. I killed a big fucking boar yesterday morning while I was out on my  
hunt, screamed like a motherfucker, so we’re going to eat that. Should be pretty fucking good.”

Several members of his Privy Council had to close their eyes to steel themselves at the offhanded  
remarks and the French contingent looked moderately offended. The Irish men, however, nodded  
with a smile on each of their faces.

“Sounds like a good-fucking-time,” Francis replied with a jaunty look in his eyes, drawing an  
array of gasps from the dignitaries in the room and smack on his arm from Phillip.

A good-fucking-time, indeed!

Chapter Three:

The Grand Hall looked majestic with long, rectangular, tables lined with candelabras set around  
the perimeter, each one adorned with several large vases overflowing with blood red roses. The  
freshest, most decadent foods were piled on the guests' plates and the finest wine filled their cups.  
In the center of the room, entertainers impressed the attendees with their singing, dancing and  
acrobatic skills. Mickey sat in the center of the table at the head of the room with Mandy on one  
side of him and Thomas on the other. Elaborate tablescapes and contortionists didn't excite  
Mickey, as all the extravagance was commonplace for him. What did impress him was a certain  
Irish man who was seated across the room. He was tearing into the boar with his straight white  
teeth and laughing loudly at something his brother was saying. He was resplendent, with an air of  
lightness surrounding him. Unlike Mickey, he was unencumbered; the only eyes that were  
persistently fixed on him belonged to the king himself.

“See something you like, Mick?” Thomas whispered, leaning into Mickey so his teasing wouldn’t  
be heard by eager ears.

Mickey didn’t turn to him; instead he continued to face forward, lips turned up in an impish grin.

“He’s too soft, too sweet,” Thomas cautioned with a quiet tsk, “You’d destroy him; first with  
your body, then with your power.”

“Probably first with my mouth,” Mickey corrected, turning to his friend, eyebrows raised and  
tongue stuck out lecherously.

Thomas shook his head and laughed before his face grew serious, “Where are the other men you  
fucked around with? Hmm?” He prodded, causing Mickey to look away refusing to acknowledge  
the question. Thomas moved in close so he could rest his lips against his friend’s ear and dropped  
his voice down low, “The Executioner’s sword is laced with the blood of your lovers.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered, closing his eyes and pressing tattooed fingers against the bridge of  
his nose, “It’s them or me, man, you know that.”

“I do. It’s just that…” He paused and Mickey opened his curious eyes.

“It’s just that what?”

“He’s a really nice guy. Interesting, funny…” Thomas explained, “It’d just be a shame if…”  
His words were cut short by Mickey asking, “You talked to him? When?”

“This afternoon in the gardens, talked to all three of them. Wanted to figure out which one is the  
sodomite.”

“And?” Mickey pressed, anxious to hear his findings.

“I can’t fucking tell, don’t got an eye for that shit I guess,” Thomas admitted, sighing when he saw  
his friend’s face fall, “Sorry.”

Mickey bit his lip and rubbed his chin, shifting his gaze back towards the Irish men. He was  
surprised when his eyes immediately met Phillip’s pale blues. The knight quickly dropped his  
head in respect but looked back up to find the King was still studying him, “I got an idea.” Mickey  
stated as he crooked his finger signaling for Phillip to come to him. The man pointed to himself,  
confused, and Mickey nodded, also gesturing for him to bring Ian. He watched as Phillip said  
something to his brother, amused by the apprehensiveness on the redhead’s face.

“What is it?” Thomas asked, taking a swig of his wine, knowing that when Mickey made similar  
statements mayhem ensued.

“Tell Svetlana that I need her to do a job for me tonight. She’s gonna go to all three men; Ian,  
Phillip and that French fucker and fuck them. If one of them is into dick, he’ll deny her pussy.  
Simple.”

“That’s actually pretty fucking smart,” Thomas stated, astonished.

“Fuck you, dickhead,” Mickey laughed, smacking his buddy upside his head, “I always come up  
with good shit.”

“Like hell you do,” He retorted with a chuckle. He watched as Phillip and Ian crossed the floor,  
walking towards them, “Looks like you’re about to have some company. I’ll go find her. Tonight,  
right?”

“Tonight,” Mickey confirmed, gulping down a fair amount of his wine and licking his lips as the  
Irish men bowed in front of his table.

“Your Grace,” Both of them uttered, before straightening up. They stood expectantly; unsure of  
why the King had summoned them. Mickey wasn’t quick to speak, rather taking the time to fully  
appraise the men standing before him. They didn’t look like siblings, not in the way that he and  
Mandy did. They did, however, seem to be close in age to one another and to him.

“You like my meat?” He asked, quite aware of the implications of his word usage. Phillip  
attempted to hold back a grin, thinking that the King didn’t realize how overtly sexual his question  
sounded, while Ian’s cheeks flushed pink and he choked on some of his saliva.

“Uh, yeah. It was extraordinary,” Phillip replied, speaking as enthusiastically as he could, which  
caused his brother to smirk, “Really tender and flavorful.”

“And what did you think? It’s Ian, right?” Mickey inquired, nudging the side of his nose with his  
knuckle, trying to appear aloof when he certainly wasn’t.

“It is,” The redhead confirmed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his green pants, one of his  
knees turning in slightly with nerves. He cleared his throat, “It tasted like it screamed like a  
motherfucker when you killed it.”

They were all quiet; Lip uncertain of how the King would react, Ian in disbelief that the words  
made their way out of his mouth and Mickey simply reflecting on the sound of his voice.  
“I mean, I could taste your hard work and your efforts were worth it,” Ian added lowering his  
eyes, feeling too timid to regard him any further. He was having difficulty drawing in a breath as  
his nerves were seemingly constricting his lungs. When he heard the sounds of lighthearted  
laughter tumbling from the King’s lips he pulled in an inhale of air and looked up. He was  
astounded that the man was even more gorgeous when he laughed. The way his full lips parted  
and his eyes crinkled had Ian feeling breathless once again. He found the indication of his pleasure  
to be more intoxicating than the superior wine he had drank too much of throughout the night.

Mickey reigned in his laughter, “Good.”

“The wine is also incredible. The best we’ve ever had,” Phillip said.

“That so?” He asked, lifting one eyebrow and glancing at Ian who nodded his affirmation, “I’m  
gonna share something else with you that’ll be the best you’ve ever had” He informed the men,  
signaling for them to come closer. They did and were taken aback by the King leaning over the  
table to get into their faces, “My best whore will come to your chambers tonight and give you a  
welcoming that’s better than any bullshit banquet.”

“Really?” Phillip asked, the expression on his face a clear representation of his shock, “To what  
do we owe this honor?”

“You guys seem like fun,” Mickey replied with an easy shrug. He sat back in his chair and  
nibbled on his nailbeds, “I’m surrounded by boring fucking assholes all the time. Somebody  
should have a good time around here, even if it’s not me.” Phillip smiled his approval and Ian  
remained reticent.

“Forgive me for my informality, Your Grace,” Phillip began.

"Don't know if you missed it Phillip, but I ain't that fucking formal," Mickey responded with a  
smirk.

"Well then, you can call me Lip," The brunet stated, smiling wildly.

"You got a nickname, Firecrotch?" Mickey asked the now mute redhead much to his brother's  
delight.

His green eyes grew wide and shook his head, "Um, still Ian."

Mickey dragged his thumb across his lower lip and confirmed, "Still Ian." It took him another  
moment to peel his eyes away from the blushing man, "So what's up, Lip?"

"So, you said you don't get to have a lotta fun around here. You ever party with the peasants?"

"We're not peasants," Ian chided, aggravated by Lip's statement. He already felt out of place  
enough within the walls of the imposing castle and now Lip was making them seem like paupers  
in front of an intimidating, handsome King. He wanted to sink into the wood floor and disappear.

"Used to be," Lip shot back, "Besides, His Grace knows what I'm getting at."

"Because your best fucking friends now?" Ian scolded quietly, too anxious to look towards the  
King.

"Maybe we will be," Mickey said lightly, "You're wound pretty fucking tight, Red. He always  
this tight?" He asked Lip, who clicked his tongue and sighed, earning him a smack on the arm  
from Ian, whose eyes were anywhere but on the Monarch seated on the other side of the table.

"Shit," Mickey tsked, "What kinda partying are we talking about?"

"Mead, cannabis. Just the standard shit," Lip replied.  
Mickey let out a wry laugh and waved his arms in front of him, "This is the standard shit for me."

"Well, we can show you how to party like a Gallagher," Lip offered, raising an eyebrow and the  
King who seemed interested in participating.

"You party, too, Carrot Top?" Mickey questioned, hearing Lip laugh at the ribbing while he  
focused on Ian.

"Gallagher's my last name, too," He replied as if it was a stupid fucking question. He gathered the  
courage to look the King directly in his blue eyes and was glad to find amusement dancing in  
them.

"Maybe I'll come party with the Gallaghers one of these nights," Mickey decided with a grin,  
noticing Thomas approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Your Grace," Thomas said bowing down when he reached the table, "Pardon my interruption  
but the..." he cleared his throat and searched for a term, "gift you've bestowed upon your guests  
awaits them in their quarters."

Mickey nodded, "Well, I won't keep them then." The brothers repeated their thank you's and  
bowed low. The King watched as they followed Thomas towards the doors, noticing that the  
redhead glanced over his shoulder to get another look at him. Mickey felt his heart race when their  
eyes met and though Ian was quick to turn his head away, the brunet was left with a pretty good  
idea of what Svetlana's findings would be after his 'Spot the Sodomizer' experiment.

"Your Grace," Henry greeted, pulling Mickey's attention away from Ian's ass as he exited.

"What?" He snapped, annoyed that he was distracted from the view he had found so enjoyable.

"I'm sorry, I was just coming to discuss your activities for this evening," The older man  
apologized, kneading his wrinkled hands, "Do you desire company?"

He had no idea how badly Mickey desired it.

"Yes. The Russian. Have her brought to me as soon as she's finished welcoming the ambassadors'  
sons. I don't give a fuck how late it is. If I fall asleep have her fucking wake me."  
Henry nodded his understanding, "Very well, Your Grace. Anything else?"

"Yeah, have Thomas tell her not to take too fucking long." He pulled off his crown so he could  
rake his fingers through his dark hair, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin with  
anticipation. He hoped that Svetlana actually had the level of skills she always bragged about.

Chapter Four:

When Ian entered his chambers he was surprised to find a beautiful woman laying on his bed in  
only her corset and hose. Her long brown hair hung loose over her shoulders, while her green  
eyes looked him over appreciatively. During the short walk back to their quarters he had silently  
hoped that the King's 'gift' would visit Lip and Jacque before she made her way to him. He  
presumed that typically when sharing a lover with multiple people it was best to go first, but in this  
particular circumstance he would have preferred to be last, as it would have given him enough  
time to pretend to be asleep and have it be believable. Now, there was a stunning woman  
presenting herself to him and he knew that regardless of her attractiveness he wouldn't be able to  
fuck her. His dick just didn't work that way. He'd spent years trying to will it to, but alas he was  
who he was.

"Suddenly I realize that tonight is my lucky night," Svetlana purred, slowly crawling to the edge  
of the bed and signaling for Ian to join her, "What a handsome man you are."

"Thanks," He cleared his throat uncomfortably and shoved his hands into his pockets, "You're  
gorgeous."

She grinned and licked her lips salaciously, "Take off your clothing. Let me rub you down with  
my lavender oil and help you to relax before I work you up once again."

Unable to think of a reason to resist without seeming suspect, Ian began to disrobe. He wasn't at  
all modest. He'd spent enough time at group baths to feel comfortable being nude in front of  
people and he was confident that years of hard work on the Gallagher farm in Galway had kept  
his body well-toned.

He missed Galway and early mornings spent standing on the cliffs, watching as the heavy mist  
rolled over the Atlantic. The smell of the dense sea air invigorated him while the soft undertones  
of waves provided him solace. It was where he allowed himself to think, worry, dream; reviving  
moments of respite where he could simply be, without judgement or obligation.  
He walked over to the bed and laid down on his stomach, closing his eyes and imagining the sea  
as small hands began to rub warmed oil onto his back, massaging deep into his muscles. He  
transported himself to the cliffs, needing the tranquility of his cherished place to soothe his mind  
and make a plan.

As easygoing as the King had been that evening, Ian knew he had a reputation of being short  
tempered, hasty and merciless, which he found to be an incredibly terrifying combination. The last  
thing he needed to do was insult a King with a tempestuous temperament by not showing  
appreciation for his kind gesture. Denying the woman would not only be an slight, but a good  
way to trigger suspicion in regards to his sexual preference.

As soon as he felt her hand dip under his hip and reach for his cock, he jumped up, sitting cross  
legged on bed. He awkwardly held his junk as she looked at him with a frown. "Did I do  
something that displeases you?" She questioned, working her best pout.

"Uh, no. It's just that..." He willed his brain to spit out some type of bullshit that reflected a  
modicum of believability, "I'm very religious and saving myself for marriage."

Svetlana raised her eyebrows skeptically and narrowed her eyes at him, "So you are a virgin?"

Ian nodded. He would have been concerned that a lightening bolt was going to crack through the  
roof and strike him dead for lying if he actually believed that there was a higher power; luckily he  
didn't.

"A Catholic I assume..."

"Catholic," He confirmed emphatically, "I'm not a Protestant." He scoffed and shook his head,  
knowing that Protestants were considered heretics in the country, an offense that was punishable  
by death.

"Good-looking and pious," She hummed, rubbing his knee gently, "I am impressed."  
He felt his cheeks beginning to grow hot and cursed his pale skin for being so quick to blush.

"I will leave you be, but first, I would love if you would pray with me," Svetlana said, reaching  
for his hands. He intertwined his fingers with her still slick digits and closed his eyes, painfully  
aware that he was sitting on a bed naked, holding hands with a whore, about to pray to a deity he  
didn't believe in, "Will you recite the 'Hail Mary.'

"Of course," He replied, trying to remember the words his mother had half-heartedly taught him  
so many years ago, "Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with me. Blessed art thou among  
women, and blessed are the fruits and your womb. Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for the  
sinners, now and at the hour of your death. Amen." He slowly opened his eyes to find an  
indiscernible expression on his prayer partner's face.

"Amen," She repeated, bowing her head slightly.

As Svetlana stood to clothe herself she heard Ian's worried voice ask, "What will you tell the  
King?"

She tied her dress and smiled at him, unable to stop herself from leaning over to kiss his cheek,  
"Exactly what he wants to hear." She ruffled his red locks and gave him one last look of approval  
before exiting his room and making her way over to visit his brother. She was well aware that she  
had found the sodomizer among them but felt compelled to complete her mission.

She knocked gently on the door, laughing when it swung open immediately, "Eager?"

"Even more so now that I see you," Lip confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at  
Svetlana's breasts without any discretion.

"You are less religious than your brother?" She questioned, loosening the ties of her dress and  
allowing it to drop to the floor.

The man's tongue wagged like a dog at the the curves of her body, too dumbstruck by her figure  
to think properly, "None of us are godly."

After an hour of showing her just how devilish he could be, he kissed her goodbye and as soon as  
he closed the door behind her he realized his massive mistake. Fuck.

Svetlana decided to forgo her rendezvous with the Frenchman in favor of reporting back to her  
King as expeditiously as possible.

"His Grace is expecting you," The guard said, opening the door to Mickey's chambers for  
Svetlana. When she entered she found the King pacing back and forth, wrapped in his robe.

"Fucking took you long enough," He groused, shooting her a dirty look.

"It did not take me long at all. I did not even go to see the Frenchman," She said simply, fanning  
out her dress so she could flop down in the chair.

"Excuse me?" He spat, his eyebrows lifting so high that they almost hit his hairline.

"You wanted me back with your news, did you not?"

"You got some news?" He asked, his aggravated demeanor abating.

"Yes, so Thomas will tell this French boy that I got too tired and I will be there tomorrow,"  
Svetlana said with a yawn.

"Like I give a shit," Mickey dismissed, sitting on the edge of the bed and biting his lip, "Come the  
fuck on, tell me."

"One brother was enthusiastic about our time together and the other told me he was a religious  
virgin but did not know the words to the 'Hail Mary.'"

Mickey couldn't help but laugh at the information, "You're fucking joking me?"

She shook her head with a grin, "I am not. Then as if that was not enough, his brother told me that  
nobody in their family is religious."

"So which one didn't fuck you?" He asked, biting his fingernail and leg shaking with anticipation.

"Who would you like it to be?" She questioned.

"This isn't fucking 20 questions, bitch. You ain't giving me a quiz," He snapped, "Come the fuck  
on."

"Alright, alright," She said, throwing her arms up in surrender, "The redhead likes dick."

"Yeah?" Mickey asked, gnawing on the inside of his cheek, "He really didn't know the 'Hail  
Mary'?" he laughed.

Svetlana shook her head, "He tried to recite it while he sat naked on the bed. It was ridiculous."

"Thought he didn't fuck you? Why the hell was he naked?" Mickey demanded, feeling irrationally  
irritated that Svetlana had seen the man nude and he hadn't.

"I gave him a massage, tried to seduce him."

"And it didn't work?"

"It led to naked praying," Svetlana replied dryly, "Cleary it didn't work."

Mickey nodded and cracked his knuckles. He tried to stop himself from posing the question that  
was sitting on the top of his tongue, but was unable to hold himself back. Instead he sniffed as if it  
didn't fucking matter anyway and asked, "How'd he look?"

"Naked?" She clarified with a smirk.

"You know what I'm fucking asking," Mickey stated quietly, "Don't make me fucking repeat it."

Svetlana was always aware of when it was not the time to push Mickey and knew that now would  
not be a a good time to tease, "He has a beautiful body; strong arms, defined muscles, a deep V  
that leads to his..." She paused.

"His what?" Mickey prodded, licking his lips subconsciously.

"His cock is more perfect than any that could be carved by the finest Woodworker," She informed  
him, "It was not hard, of course, because I lack the proper appendage to get him going, but it  
was," She held up her hands to indicate size and raised her eyebrows to mirror Mickey's, "I would  
imagine when it is stiff it would be a lot of fun to bounce on."

Mickey shifted, as the sudden need to adjust his manhood arose, "Fuck off," He said without  
malice, "What else?"

"I just told you about his cock, what else is there a need to know?" She asked confused.

"I don't know..." Mickey replied with a noncommittal shrug, "Is he funny and shit?"

"He was too busy shitting his pants to tell jokes, Mikhailo," She giggled, "but he is very sweet,  
polite, respectful. I like him."

"Hmmm," Mickey hummed, rubbing his knuckle against his nose, "He say anything about me?"  
He asked, his tone barely audible.

Svetlana took mercy on him deciding that it was too cute that he was asking to give him any shit  
about it, "He asked what I would tell you. I think you make him nervous?"

"How do I make him less nervous?" He questioned, nibbling on his bottom lip.

"Stop being an asshole?" She suggested with a smirk, earning her an angry middle finger from the  
King, "Just be yourself," She said, "the 'you' you are when your with me, Mandy or Thomas."

Mickey nodded his understanding.

"I'm tired. Do you want me to fuck you or can I go to bed?"

"Get the fuck outta here," Mickey laughed, watching as Svetlana moved to exit the room, "Hey  
Sveta." She turned to look back at him, "Thanks."

She gave him a wink and disappeared from the room.

Chapter Five:

Ian rested his head on the vibrant green grass of the garden and watched as fluffy white clouds  
drifted across the cerulean sky. Though the hue was a brilliant blue it didn't compare to the shade  
of his eyes. He sighed, wishing that thoughts of him would melt away and leave him be. Each  
time he willed himself to stop, he found that his image was all that he could see. He always did  
this, fell for the most impractical of people. As if preferring men wasn't problematic enough, his  
masochistic mind had him desiring the King. Crushes like the one he had on the monarch were  
sure to leave him lonely in life, just as he feared he would be.

He sighed and turned over to his stomach, arms crossed under his shoulders, allowing the dew  
damp blades to tickle his nose. The sound of laughter drew his eyes up and he smiled at the sight  
of two little girls with wild curls, leaping and twirling, the ribbons of their flower crowns  
streaming behind them, "Come dance with us," One of the girls shouted to him as the other  
giggled shyly.

"There's no music," He called back with a grin.

"You can sing," She suggested, yelping when her friend tugged her hair. She smacked her on the  
arm and started to chase her to give her another. They created a swirling circle of chuckles, both  
attempting to get the other back for their offenses.

Ian pulled himself up, brushing off his pants and heading over to them, "I don't sing."  
"But you dance?" The outgoing girl asked, curtsying playfully before holding her hands out to  
him.

He took them and nodded beginning to push her arms back and then pull them up, smiling down  
at the joy on her face. As they danced, he recalled the many times he'd done the same with his  
little sister when she was the around the girl's age. It was difficult to be so far from the rest of his  
family, from his country, but moments of happiness such as this one made it a bit easier.

"I'm Mary, that's Elizabeth," She told him as he spun her around, "What's your name?"

"Ian," He replied, lifting her and swinging her body through the air as she squealed with delight.

"You're not from here," She stated matter-of-factly wrapping her arms around his neck as he held  
her up.

"I'm not," He confirmed, "I'm from Ireland. Have you ever been?"

"I've never been away from the castle," She replied with a pout, "Is it pretty there?"

"Beautiful," He answered, putting her down, much to her dismay. She situated her feet on top of  
his as they swayed.

"Will you be my boyfriend, Ian?" She asked, looking up at him, the morning sun kissing the tip of  
her nose.

"Yes Mary, I will," He said with a grin, readjusting her floral wreath that was lopsided on her  
head, "But now I think I owe Elizabeth a dance."

She nodded and waved her timid friend over. Just they began to move to the sound of the breeze  
rustling through leaves of the trees they were interrupted.

"Ian, I gotta talk to you," Lip said, approaching his brother, "Walk with me."

"You're gonna have to wait until Elizabeth and I are finished dancing," He responded, smiling  
sweetly as a flush creeped over the little girl's pale cheeks.

"It's important," Lip urged, his tone reflecting his sincerity.

"I'll find you later, ok?" Ian apologized, letting go of Elizabeth, who nodded her agreement.

He waved his goodbye to Mary who responded with a chipper, "Bye boyfriend!"

"Boyfriend, huh?" Lip asked with a smirk as they made their way towards the castle.

"What can I say? The little ladies love me," He grinned, "What's going on? Frank piss someone  
off and get his dumbass executed already?"

"Not yet," Lip replied, "maybe soon," He cleared his throat, "Listen, I fucked up, man."

Ian stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at his brother, "What'd you do?"

"You told the prostitute that you were religious and saving yourself for marriage...". Lip began,  
rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah, so?" Ian questioned, confused as to why that was a big deal.

"I kinda told her you weren't," Lip stated, cringing at his own admission.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Ian cried, his eyes growing wide.

"She asked me if I was less religious than you and I said that none of us were godly," He  
explained, "I wasn't thinking straight. Her tits were perfect."

"I don't give a shit how perfect her fucking tits were!!" He paused and dropped his voice down to  
a harsh whisper, "What if she suspects? She's the King's whore, Lip." He shook his head, "She's  
gonna fucking tell him."

"He seemed pretty cool at the banquet, though, right?" Lip offered, half-heartedly knowing that it  
was a weak argument.

"He's a known tyrant," Ian stated with a sigh, beginning to feel lightheaded. He squatted and  
rubbed his head before looking up at his brother, "and I'm sure he won't take kindly to a  
sodomizer. Fuck, I'm dead. You fucking killed me."

"Calm down," Lip soothed, kneeling next to Ian so he could rest a hand on his shoulder, "We'll  
figure it out, ok? I'll go find the girl... talk to her."

"That'll just make shit worse," Ian chided.

"Well, maybe you tell her that you just weren't in the mood but you are now. You'll say that you  
like kinky shit and blindfold her and then I'll swoop in and fuck her."

"Swoop in?" Ian asked raising an eyebrow and laughing wryly.

"Swoop in," Lip confirmed, "Fix it all."

"What are you fixing?" A familiar voice questioned, "and why are you on the ground?"

The both glanced up to see their father hovering over them.

"Like this day couldn't get worse," Ian groused.

Lip patted his back, assured him again that they'd figure it out, stood up and turned to pull Ian up  
by his arms causing the redhead let out a dramatic groan, "How'd the meeting go with the King  
and his council?" He asked his father.

"It was terrifying," Frank said, rubbing his forehead as if he was trying to erase a memory.

"Terrifying how?" Ian pressed, surprised by his father's disposition.

"His Grace is fucking crazy," Frank whispered, his eyes wide.

"What d'you mean?" Lip questioned, "he was cool when we were talking to him last night."

"You and the fucking 'he's cool' bullshit," Ian snapped, rolling his eyes, "What did he do?" he  
asked his father apprehensively.

"One of his advisors was showing him a map of villages affected by famine and discussing trade  
options with Ireland and France. While the King is looking over map, the advisor tried to take it  
away, probably to explain something more thoroughly, but I'm not sure. The King loses it. He  
jumps up and slams the guy's chest down on the table, lays his arm across his back to hold him  
there, pulls out his dagger and puts it right through the guy's hand. He's bleeding all over the place  
and nobody bats a fucking eyelash. I guess he does shit like that a lot," Frank rambled, kneading  
his hands nervously, "All I know is I'm gonna stay on his good side."

Ian heard his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears as anxiety pulsed through his body, beating out  
his blood on its journey to his limbs. He felt his arms and legs begin to tingle while his chest grew  
tight. He tried to take a deep breath, drawing the image of the cliffs to his mind, begging the  
placidity of the place to placate his worried mind. He'd always struggled with the ability to settle  
his stress, finding that his mind spiraled to the worst case scenario of most situations.  
Regardless of how amiable the King had seemed the night before, rumors of his dark side were  
true and Ian found himself segueing from anxiety to terror. In an attempt to comfort his brother,  
Lip rubbed his back gently, sighing when Ian knocked his arm away.

Just as Ian was about to head back to his chambers to get the hell away from his father and  
brother, they were approached by Thomas, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" He greeted, smiling easily at  
the men who all looked to be in various states of panic.

"Yeah, uh, the weather's perfect," Lip agreed, trying to cover up his concern by appearing laid  
back, though he felt anything but relaxed.

"Ideal hunting weather," Thomas stated, giving Ian a once over, which the redhead was quick to  
pick up on, "which is why the King would like you to join him on a duck hunt tomorrow  
morning." His eyes were fixed directly on Ian.

"Just me or...?" Lip attempted to clarify and pull the attention from his brother.

"You," Thomas confirmed before turning back towards Ian, "and especially Ian." Ian felt his legs  
begin to wobble, but he willed himself not to fall to the ground. He was going to fucking kill him.

"I'm assuming this is only for the strapping young fellows?" Frank asked with a click of his  
tongue.

"You assume correctly," Thomas replied with a polite grin before directing his next statement to  
the brothers. "We head out at daybreak. We'll expect you at the stables at the cock's crow." Ian  
and Lip both nodded, "The King is eager to see how you ride."

"Both my boys are extremely competent riders," Frank boasted, "I taught them myself."

"Good to know," Thomas said with a smirk, "Tomorrow it is then?" Again, his eyes bore into  
Ian's, leaving the redhead squirming under his stare.

"Tomorrow it is," Lip confirmed, feeling the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle with fear.

As soon as Thomas was out of their view, Ian pursed his lips, balled his fists and delivered a hard  
punch to his brother's face.

"What the hell was that for?!" Frank cried as Ian stormed away and Lip held onto his throbbing  
cheek.

"I deserved that," He called after Ian.

"Deserved worse," Ian yelled back holding up his middle finger for emphasis. As he walked back  
to his chambers, on shaky legs, he tried to make sense of Thomas' loaded stares. Though he was  
pretty sure the goal of the hunt was to kill him, there seemed to be something else there, like he  
was speaking in code and Ian was supposed to understand what he was hinting at. All he was able  
to ascertain was that the King was requesting his company specifically on a trip meant for  
murdering things.

He laid down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, cursing the day he agreed to join Frank on  
this 'adventure.' He should have stayed in Galway with Fiona, Debbie and Carl. He hadn't even  
been away for a week and now he'd never make it back. Fuck Lip and his big mouth. Fuck the  
whore and her's too. Fuck his heart for desiring men and fuck his cock for wanting the King that  
was going to fucking kill him. Fuck everything.

Chapter Six:

Ian heard a knock on his door and groaned, “Come in,” from where he was lying on his bed. The  
door creaked open and Lip stood at the threshold assessing the scene before him. His brother was  
fully clothed in his hunting garb, curled up in the fetal position, with one hand on the barf bucket  
he’d placed beside his bed and the other resting on his forehead.

“Fuck, you look like hell,” He muttered, scratching the skin behind his ear and furrowing his  
brows, “Should I tell His Grace that you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m sure that would go over really fucking well,” Ian scoffed, pulling himself up so that he was  
sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his stomach.

“Did you sleep at all?” Lip questioned, moving closer to his brother so he could smooth down his  
wild, red locks that were sticking up in every which way.

“What d’you think?” Ian snapped, knocking his hand away and fixing his own hair, “Would you  
be able to sleep knowing it was the last night of your life?”

Lip shook his head and sighed, “I’m pretty sure things are gonna be alright,” He told him,  
grabbing his hand and yanking him up from his seated position, “Let’s go.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ian asked as they walked towards the stables.

The morning sun was hidden behind flat grey clouds, tinging their edges with a canary yellow tint  
as the nightingales sang their final song. If Ian hadn’t believed that it was going to be the day of  
his demise, he would have been able to fully appreciate the fresh, crispness of the late March air  
and the way the cool breeze lapped at his paler than usual skin.

“I spoke to the King’s whore last night,” Lip explained, earning him a deadly look of anger from  
his brother who was too worn out to express his dismay by beating the shit out of him, though he  
really fucking wanted to, “It was good. I swear,” He promised throwing his hands up in surrender,

“Seriously.”

“You know, everyone always says you’re the brilliant one in the family, but I think you’re a  
fucking idiot, you know that? You can’t keep your stupid mouth shut,” Ian chided, his chin  
protruding in annoyance.

“I said it was good,” Lip assured him, “Do you want me to tell you about it or do you wanna keep  
feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Why the hell not, Lip,” Ian said wryly, “I don’t have anything left to lose… except my fucking  
head.”

“I told her that you weren’t really religious,” Lip said, causing Ian to stop dead in his tracks, close  
his eyes and take a deep, laborious breath while rubbing his temples.

“I’m sure she was really shocked by that, right?” Ian jeered, shaking his head in amazement. He  
didn’t think it was possible for him to believe his brother could be more of a dipshit, but here he  
was proving that he in fact had the capacity for even more cretinism.

Lip let out a light laugh and Ian mustered up the energy to shove him, “She said you fucked up the  
‘Hail Mary.’ She really got a kick out of it.”

“I’m so glad that everyone is having a good laugh at my expense,” Ian said sarcastically, “You  
know, I’d probably be laughing too if I wasn't going to fucking die,” He stated, his voice growing  
louder when he spit out the last two words.

“Anyway,” Lip said ignoring the outburst, looking down at the smooth rocks they were stepping  
on to cross over a narrow brook, “She was of course curious why you made that shit up, so I told  
her that you’ve been struggling with impotence for a while now, that you’ve gone to apothecaries  
and tried to find a cute for it, but haven’t been able to. And that you hate to talk about it because  
you find it, you know… mortifying.”

“So, you told her I have a perpetually dead dick?” Ian clarified, leaping off of the last rock and  
landing on solid ground.

“Pretty much,” Lip confirmed with a nod.

Ian pursed his lips tightly and remained quiet for a moment before asking, “What was her  
reaction?”

“Pity I think,” He replied with a shrug.

“Cool,” Ian said, bitterly. Though he wasn’t thrilled about any aspect of the situation, it wasn’t the  
worst excuse that Lip could’ve come up with. Ian just hoped that the whore and, more  
importantly, the King thought that Lip was being truthful. He couldn’t believe that he was actually  
wishing a hot guy would think his dick didn’t work, but here he was. It was better than death after  
all.

“Over here.” They heard Thomas call to them, waving his arms so they’d recognize he and the  
King standing in front of the stables, with four of the most elegant palfreys that Ian had ever seen.

As soon as they approached, they bowed low to the King. Ian lifted his head slowly, allowing his  
eyes to travel from His Grace’s black boots, to the dark pants that hugged his powerful thighs  
tightly, and then up the faded, charcoal chemise that was much more casual than would be  
expected of a King. When he ascended fully to look at his face, he was startled to see bright blue  
eyes regarding him softly, “You look like shit,” Mickey stated, noticing the exceptional pallor of  
Ian’s tone and his overall peaked presence, “You feeling alright?”

Ian nodded his head, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d vomit all over the King’s shoes.

“You look sick,” Thomas agreed, “It’s not too long of a ride out to the ponds, though, think you’ll  
be ok?”

“Um, yeah, fine,” He replied quietly. He was surprised when Thomas handed both he and Lip a  
crossbow. It was unorthodox to arm a man awaiting his assassination, but he was glad for it. Ian  
strapped it to his back, admiring from the side of his eye the ease with which Mickey mounted his  
horse and how stately he looked atop his steed.

“You guys party like Gallaghers last night?” Mickey asked with a laugh, attempting to draw Ian’s  
attention, frustrated when the practically mute man seemed more interested in studying blades of  
grass than his face.

“Always do,” Lip answered with a smirk, adjusting himself on his horse and glancing at his  
brother who was the last to mount.

“Gave you Tostee,” The King told Ian as the redhead climbed onto the caramel colored horse’s  
back, “He’s one of my best. I named him after ginger syrup, have you had it?”

“Ginger syrup?” Ian asked confused, taken aback by the question and why His Grace was making  
simple conversation with him at all.

“Mmmhmm,” He nodded, licking his lips while admiring the man’s perfect profile, “It’s my  
favorite.” He called an ‘Aye’ and his horse took off.

“I haven’t,” Ian called after him, kicking the horse’s side so he would gallop alongside the King’s.

“We’ll have to fix that,” Mickey stated with an easy smile that just as quickly dropped from his  
face when Ian didn’t say anything in return.

They rode to the pond in silence, listening in on Lip and Thomas’ free flowing conversation about  
various women of the court. Each time his horse’s hoofs hit the grassy ground of the woods they  
were dashing through Ian felt his heart pound and his stomach flip. When they reached the  
clearing, he followed the King’s lead and dismounted, tying Tostee’s reins around the thick trunk  
of the lone tree that was standing by the water’s edge.

“Let’s get some of these fuckers, huh?” Mickey said, pulling his crossbow off of his back and  
aiming it towards the quacking fowls flying overhead.

“You guys ever hunt ducks before?” Thomas asked, watching uncertainly as Ian held his weapon  
with shaky hands.

“A few times,” Lip replied, waiting until Thomas turned away to whisper that to Ian that he  
needed to “get it the fuck together.”

In response, Ian threw up his middle finger and heard a chuckle from beside him, “Brotherly love,  
hmm?” Mickey asked with a grin.

“Something like that,” Ian answered, giving him a shy smile back.

He watched in awe as Mickey hit every target, feeling himself grow less anxious as time passed  
and he found his chest still arrowless. His fear was gave way to a hint of excitement, turned on by  
the level of skill the King had and slight embarrassment at how shitty he seemed to be in  
comparison.

“We’re gonna eat really fucking good tonight,” Mickey exclaimed proudly as his kills piled up,

“You feeling any better?”

“A little bit,” Ian nodded, grateful for the concern and even more thankful that there didn’t seem to  
be much of a reason for him to be as fearful as he had been hours earlier.

“Wanna show you something,” Mickey said dropping his bow and signaling for Ian to do the  
same, “We’ll be right back,” He informed Thomas who shook his head and grabbed Ian’s elbow  
before he could follow the King towards the woods. “Really?” Mickey spat annoyed, as Thomas  
demanded Ian give him his knife.

“Protocol, dickhead,” Thomas called to Mickey, who rolled his eyes.

“Cause clearly you give a shit about that,” He teased, waving for the wobbly kneed redhead to  
come with him.

“What do you wanna show me?” Ian asked, nervously, wondering if he’d let his guard down too  
easily. Maybe His Grace was taking him into the woods to snap his neck with his bare hands. He  
idly wondered if it would be a quicker death than the executioner’s sword.

“You’ll see,” He said with a coy grin, letting the back of his hand brush against Ian’s, needing to  
feel his skin, “So, what d’you like to do?”

“Uh, I like to read, write, run a little bit,” Ian responded, growing more concerned the further into  
the woods they got.

“You fast?”

“Huh?” Ian hummed, feeling sweat begin to bead at his hairline. He wiped it away and rubbed his  
forehead.

“Do you run fast?” Mickey repeated deliberately, as if he was speaking to an imbecile. He was  
beginning to think he was. He looked over at Ian, noticing how blanched his complexion was,

“Hey, you still feeling bad, man?” He asked, holding onto his shoulders so he could steady him.  
Ian shook his head, “No, I’m alright.”

“Let’s sit down,” Mickey suggested, guiding him over to a fallen tree and taking a seat on the  
wide trunk. Ian sat next to him, staring down at his trembling hands, trying to will them to stop,

“So you read, huh?” Mickey bit his lower lip, unsure of how to broach the subject and not positive  
that he actually should. He decided to go for it, thinking that worse comes to worse he could  
always send the guy to the Tower, “Not the Bible though,” He teased, gently knocking his knee  
against Ian’s.

Ian’s breath hitched as his stomach lurched.

“She told me you fucked up the ‘Hail Mary,’” Mickey informed him, “You a Protestant?”

“No,” He grimaced, “Not a Protestant.”

“Don’t have to have you burned then. Relax, alright,” He said, resting his hand on Ian’s upper  
thigh, “I don’t give a shit. Even though it is kinda pathetic. You’re an Irish Catholic, right?”

Ian nodded. He could feel his heart beginning to race as the King’s fingers raked gently against  
the fabric of his pants.

“Should probably know the ‘Hail Mary’ then, right,” Mickey stated quietly, bringing his free hand  
up to Ian’s cheek so he could turn his face towards him. He watched as the redhead’s eyes  
dropped down to his lips. Yes, “So you didn’t like my welcome gift?”

Ian shook his head ‘no’ before he realized what he was doing, what he was admitting.

“Good,” Mickey whispered, licking his lips suggestively, dying to taste him. He let his fingers trail  
from his cheek down to the nape of his neck, “Find it really fucking hard to believe you’re a virgin  
though,” he began, “Are you?”

Ian shook his head again, closing his eyes and feeling the sensation of Mickey’s warm breath  
fanning over his face.

“Your Grace!!” Thomas’ voice hollered, “A squire is here saying you’re needed in the castle  
immediately.” Ian snapped his eyes open and saw the King rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Fuck,” He muttered, pursing his lips, “I gotta…”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed, looking from his gaze, down to his lips and then back up again. He felt the  
King’s hand squeeze his thigh and heard him sigh.

“I’ll find you soon, alright,” He promised, standing up and gesturing for Ian to do the same.

“You can show me what you wanted to show me,” Ian suggested timidly, tucking his hands into  
the pockets of his pants.

Mickey smirked, “Yeah, I will.”

Chapter Seven:

Ian laid his head back on the pillow and sighed. The anxiety he'd felt earlier in the day, that  
centered around his potential execution, had abated and gave way to a whole different type of  
tension. He wondered if somehow his intense level of stress had caused him to hallucinate or if the  
motherfucking King had actually come onto him. Lips still tingling from the tickle of his breath  
and his dick left aching from the press of his fingertips, convinced him that it had really happened  
and it was really fucking awesome. Goddam he was sexy. Ian wished that he'd been more  
coherent when His Grace was flirting with him, painfully aware that he'd been extremely  
awkward. He wasn't typically so fucking shy but the man's royal blood and gorgeous face, had  
him intimidated as hell. Shit, that face. Though, he'd put a significant amount of effort into not  
staring at it constantly, he'd snuck as many glances as he could and was well acquainted with  
every inch of its perfection. He wondered what other inches he'd become familiar with soon.  
He licked his palm repeatedly getting it nice and wet before he dropped it down to his straining  
erection. Closing his eyes, he began to slowly stroke the length of his cock imagining that it was  
the King's ass lowering down onto him. He twisted his fist as he pictured the man riding him,  
those strong legs supporting his toned body. "Mmm, c'mon," he urged quietly into his empty  
room, swiping his thumb across his slit to pull down the precum that was leaking so he could slick  
himself up more. He pumped his cock at a more rapid pace, biting down on his lip as he thought  
of the King doing the same, "Fucking get it," He murmured as his hips started to hump into his  
hand. He felt his legs shake with the anticipation of his impending release as he jerked himself  
harder, the sound of skin slapping flooding his ears and painting images in his mind of his body  
slamming up into His Grace's full, stacked ass. And just like that he was done, spilling his release  
all over his hand with a pleasured cry.

As he attempted to catch his breath he wondered if his fantasy would always remain one. Though  
he still found it completely unbelievable, there seemed to be a good chance he was going to hook  
up with the King. He found it unlikely, however, that he'd be the one doing the fucking when they  
did. It would be too wild a dream to think that he'd ever get to bend over the monarch and pound  
the hell out of him. He'd never bottomed before, but if His Grace wanted to fuck him, he was  
more than willing to give it a try. When it came down to it, he'd do whatever the man wanted him  
to if it meant he could kiss those lips and feel his body.

He drifted to sleep picturing his face and woke up several hours later to his brother's hovering over  
him, "You catch up?" Lip asked, knowing he hadn't slept well the night before.

"Mmmhmm," Ian hummed, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Good cause we gotta go or we're gonna be late for dinner," He said, patting his side to indicate  
that he needed to get ready, "Don't wanna keep your man waiting."

"Shut up," Ian hissed, sitting up quickly, "Seriously, don't get into the habit of teasing me about  
this shit. The wrong person could hear and then I'm fucked. Work on keeping your mouth shut,  
ok?"

"Ok, ok. I'll stop," He assured him, putting him in a playful headlock, "I like this head too much to  
assist in you losing it."

Ian laughed and gave him a titty-twister so he'd let go. He climbed off his bed and hastily threw on  
his clothes, not bothering to shave the little bit of scruff he had on his face.

By the time they made it to the Grand Hall it was already packed with members of the court and  
foreign dignitaries laughing at the King's fool's suggestive miming. Unlike the dim and romantic  
decor of the banquet a couple of nights before, the room was light and bright with a more casual  
ambiance. "Duck," Lip said, pointing to the display of roasted ducks that were presented on the  
buffet table.

"He was kinda a badass, right?" Ian stated, looking at the food and remembering the high level of  
skill that got it there.

"You have a fucking moony look on your face right now," Lip whispered with a smirk.

"I'm just saying he was impressive," Ian defended, "Nothing more than that."

"Sure," Lip nodded. He was about to break his short-lived no teasing promise when he was  
interrupted by Lord Barkley announcing the King.

Every head in the Hall dropped as he entered the room including Ian's, though his was one of he  
last as he felt compelled to have a quick look at him before he averted his eyes. Counting the knots  
in the wood floor, he felt like everything that happened that morning had been a dream; perfect  
moments that his mind had created to cope with his homesickness and fear. When he lifted up, he  
found the King's eyes settled on him. Instead of averting his gaze as he had several times before,  
he forced himself to meet his stare, swallowing hard and holding his breath. Through his  
peripheral vision he could see heads turning to look his way so he dropped his eyes, feeling a  
familiar flush creep across his cheeks. He hated how reactive his skin was, how it didn't allow him  
to keep anything hidden.

When he chanced a glance back to the King he was sitting on his throne laughing at something  
that Thomas was saying.

"C'mon," Lip said nudging his arm, intent on not letting his brother seem obvious, "Let's get  
something to eat."

While they ate their dinner, Ian continuously attempted to sneak peeks at the King, disappointed to  
find he wasn't looking back at him. A never ending procession of men who appeared to be of  
great importance demanded his attention and Ian couldn't help but feel slightly jealous that he  
didn't have that effect on him. Maybe the intensity that he'd felt from him earlier that day was  
fleeting and momentary.

Music filled the room and people eagerly made their way to the dance floor to enjoy the revelry.  
Ian felt anything but joyful, realizing that it was going to be exceedingly difficult for him to crave  
a man that he couldn't easily have whenever he desired him. He wanted to pull him away from the  
crowds, climb onto his lap and kiss him hard, but he knew that he didn't have the right, that he  
couldn't take the lead. He was draining his third glass of wine, beginning to feel sorry for himself  
when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see the Princess standing behind him and  
scurried immediately to his feet so he could bow to her, "Your Majesty."

"Are you Irish Ian?" She asked with one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows lifted.

"Um, I'm Irish and my name's Ian, so yes," He replied, nervously, "I guess that's me."

"Shit, you're cute," She said grinning at him, "I can see..." She stopped herself quickly and gave  
him a knowing grin, "Want to dance with me Irish Ian?"

He cleared his throat and nodded, knowing that it would be unacceptable to deny the Princess her  
request. Once they started moving to the music he was glad that she'd asked. He loved to dance  
and felt liberated when he lost his body to the beat. He found himself idly wondering if the King  
danced and what it would be like to dance with him. He knew that it wasn't a possibility but he  
couldn't help but imagine that the Princess' smiling face was her brother's.

"You're really good," She complimented, giggling as Ian spun her around.

"You're not so bad yourself," He replied with a grin, dipping her down low before pulling her up  
and spinning her again.

He was surprised when she pushed her body flank against his and rested her cheek on his  
shoulder, "He likes you," She stated softly, blue eyes catching his and asserting their sincerity.

"He hardly knows me," Ian replied honestly, cursing himself for letting the words slip out so  
freely.

"So let him know you more," She suggested, inching closer to his ear, "He doesn't..." She bit her  
tongue.

"He doesn't what?" Ian asked, searching her face.

She shook her head, "It's not important."

"It is to me," He said, gnawing on his lower lip. At that she just smiled, kissed his cheek and  
disappeared into the crowd. He turned his head towards the front of the room and saw the King's  
eyes focused on him, the look on his face reflecting his amusement. He used his index finger to  
gesture for Ian to approach him and once he did the redhead bent his back so that he show the  
appropriate respect, "Your Grace."

He watched as Ian stood up and felt like he needed sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching  
for him. "When everyone else bows before me it feels proper," Mickey said quietly, ensuring that  
Ian was the only person who could hear him, "but when you do..." He licked his lips and shook  
his head, "it fucking turns me on."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, biting his lower lip to hold back the smirk that was aiming to pull it up. He  
was emboldened enough by the wine he'd guzzled to be more forward than perhaps he would  
have been otherwise, "Want you to see how good I'd bow for you in private."

"That right?" He asked, dragging the knuckle of his index finger along the ridge of his chin,

"You'd like showing me that?" He could feel Thomas beside him starting to grow impatient but he  
didn't give a fuck, couldn't give a fuck when Ian was standing in front of him looking so damn  
gorgeous.

"Would fucking love it," Ian assured him, green eyes burning hotly into blue.

"Stop," Thomas warned, delivering a hard elbow to Mickey's ribs, "Do this shit in your chambers  
not in the middle of the fucking Hall."

Mickey wanted to protest but knew that best friend was right. Though every part of his body was  
screaming to get closer to Ian, his mouth took over the difficult task of creating space between  
them, "Soon," He said gently, before adopting a more authoritarian tone of voice, "Anything  
else?"

Ian shook his head 'no,' his face reflecting how perplexed the situation had left him. He bowed  
and then turned away, cursing himself for being so outward with his thoughts, so forward. He  
made it a point to not look towards the King for the remainder of the evening, feeling as though  
he'd botched the whole thing before it even began. He worried that he was on the cusp of another  
sleepless night, having to contend with an unsettled mind and a worked up body.

Chapter Eight:

All Fool’s Day was Mickey’s least favorite of the festival days. As glad as he was that it typically  
harkened the warmer weather of Spring, any day dedicated to the jester wasn’t a day for him.  
Even as a child, he thought the whole concept was stupid. Mandy and Sully would run around the  
gardens excitedly, giggling and telling jokes, while he sat on a parapet wishing the hours away.

‘You’re too serious, Mikhailo,’ His mother had told him with a tisk as she urged him to join the  
other kids. She ruffled his hair, while shaking her head regretfully, ‘But it is what will make you a  
good King one day.’

14 years later he found himself sitting in the same spot, counting down the minutes until the sun  
dropped from the sky just as he did every year during the festival.

“You’re not going to join in on the merrymaking?” Sully asked with a smirk as he approached the  
ledge, “Your Grace,” He bowed, before shaking Mickey’s hand.

“You know this ain’t my shit, man,” Mickey replied, pursing his lips when his cousin sat down  
next to him. The only thing he found more annoying than All Fool’s Day was Sully. Though  
they’d grown up together and were practically raised as siblings, he’d never been able to stand  
him. Sully was a smug, narcissistic, know-it-all who was too sly for Mickey’s taste. “How was  
your trip?”

“Should I tell you about it now or follow proper protocol and wait until tomorrow when the whole  
Privy Council meets?” Sully questioned in a critical tone.

“Give me the fucking main points and we’ll get into the details tomorrow,” Mickey replied,  
shoving his clenched fist into his pocket. He’d spent most of his life wanting to punch Sully in his  
fucking face, but he knew it was best for him to fight the urge because if he did he’d have a world  
of trouble on his hands. His uncle and cousin had extensive and deep rooted relationships with  
important nobles who held more power than Mickey liked to admit they did. Though his father  
was mostly a drunken fuck up, Mickey still heeded some of his advice especially where usurping  
was concerned.

‘You only have as much power as the people are willing to give you,’ His father had told him time  
and time again. Ironically, he’d also reminded him that, ‘It is easy for those who guard you to kill  
you, don’t forget that.’ Though the circumstances surrounding his death were still under  
investigation, Mickey had his own suspicions.

“Alright,” Sully conceded with a sigh, “The Spaniards are concerned about an Italian fleet that has  
made its way to the Balearic Sea just north of Ciutadella de Menorca. They’re worried that Italians  
are going to attempt to take the Balearic Islands.”

“Seems like a there’s a pretty good chance of it considering that they’re already fucking there,”  
Mickey stated, nonplussed, “What’s that have to do with us?”

“They want us to send ships to support theirs,” Sully informed him.

Mickey shook his head, “No fucking way.”

“There are a lot of considerations that we need to discuss further,” Sully said defensively, “Not  
everything is so black and white, Mikhailo.”

“Your Grace,” Mickey reminded him with raised eyebrows.

“Your Grace,” Sully repeated through gritted teeth as if the words burned his tongue, “There are  
other factors.”

“Can’t wait to hear them,” Mickey stated sarcastically, “What else was discussed?”

“King Ferdinand is insulted that you have not yet invited Princess Isabella for a visit. He thinks  
that you’ll find her very pleasing when you actually lay your eyes on her, but denying them the  
chance to show you is rubbing them the wrong way,” Sully said, shaking his head, “They want  
you to take her for your wife. The alliance would be good for them, but it would be great for us,  
too.”

“Not interested,” Mickey said simply, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe you need to get interested then,” Sully replied, in too snarky a tone for the King’s liking,

“She’s beautiful, cousin, with brown eyes as big as walnuts and hair even darker than yours.”

“I’ll tell Ferdinand to promise her to you if you like her so much,” Mickey offered, gazing down at  
the crowded gardens below. It had been days since he last saw Ian. An outbreak of plague in the  
southern region had demanded his coordination of an aid effort and he’d had to travel to Grimsby  
to visit his ailing Grandmother. He found himself yearning to see his face. His dalliances with men  
in the past had consisted of noticing a man that peeked his interest, ordering him to his chambers,  
having them fuck him a few times over the course of the week, and then sending them to the  
executioner to ensure their silence. It was never like this. He hadn’t desired to touch or kiss them  
the way he craved Ian. He never felt compelled to learn more about their lives, their likes and  
dislikes. They hadn’t intrigued him the way the Irishman did.

“They do not want her with a Duke,” Sully said, the annoyance evident on his face, “They will  
only give her to a King. She is too precious an asset.”

“To waste on a Duke?” Mickey pressed, with a sardonic grin.

Sully didn’t respond, instead he licked his top teeth and announced, “I’m hungry. I’m going to go  
get a turkey leg. Would you like one?”

“Nah, I’m good, but thanks,” Mickey replied pleasantly, glad to have rattled his cousin’s cage a  
bit.

“I’m looking forward to sharing more information from my trip with the Privy Council  
tomorrow,” He said standing up and bowing while muttering, “Your Grace.” As Sully headed  
down to join the revelers, Mickey sighed his relief to be rid of him.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, allowing the late afternoon sun to warm his face. He  
so rarely spent time outside just sitting and enjoying the air. His outdoor activities always included  
some type of sport, be it hunting, football or jousting. He made a mental note to get outside more.  
Maybe he would spend time soaking up the sun with a certain man that seemed to be permeating  
his every thought. He found himself idly wondering if Ian was any good at football. His body was  
strong and he’d told him that liked running. If he did play, he’d make sure to bring him onto his  
team so they could fuck up Sully’s.

A loud shriek of excitement prompted him to look down to the gardens. He was surprised to find  
Ian swinging Henry’s granddaughter, Mary, through the air as she squealed with delight. Mickey  
could see the laughter on Ian’s face as he shushed her gently. She curled her face, which was  
painted to look like a butterfly, into his shoulder and smudged color all over his white chemise.  
Realizing what she had done she looked at him apologetically, but he shrugged seemingly  
unconcerned and swung her around again. A quiet voice saying “Your Grace,” interrupted his  
fond observance of their interaction.

“Hey Henry,” He greeted, noticing that the older man’s eyes were now trained on the same area  
of the garden.

“Forgive me my forwardness, Your Grace. You know I typically wait for your direction,” He  
began, face still turned forward.

“Go ahead,” Mickey prompted, following his gaze.

“I notice that you stare at him often,” He whispered, “Would you like me to make  
accommodations for him to join you in your chambers tonight? As you know, it takes some  
coordination to remain discreet for these type of meetings, Your Grace.”

“You trying to get me laid?” Mickey asked with a light laugh.

Henry tried to hold back his smile and nodded, “You are much more pleasant when you are  
receiving that special type of companionship.”

“You saying I’ve been a dick recently?” Mickey pressed, looking up at him, amused.

“I would never say that, Your Grace, at least not to your face.”

Mickey laughed louder this time, “Fair enough. I think I’ll take care of this myself for now.”

Henry nodded his understanding, “You know, he’s a nice boy.”

“So I hear,” Mickey replied, feeling the heaviness in Henry’s tone.

“Mary loves him.”

Mickey bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, “Anything else, Henry?”

“No that will be all Your Grace,” Henry replied quickly, well aware of when he was on the edge  
of pushing the King too far. Mickey waited until he knew Henry was gone to open his eyes again.

When he did, Ian’s smiling face was the first he saw. He was chuckling at something his brother  
was saying and taking swigs from his stein of mead. Deciding that he couldn’t take it anymore, he  
stood up and brushed off the back of his pants, making his way down to the garden. As he walked  
through the grass, the celebrants dropped their heads like a human wave, all bidding him their  
respect.

“Gallaghers” He addressed, cueing both Ian and Lip to raise their heads, “How’s it going?”

“Well and yourself,” Lip replied jovially, moving to shake his hand but dropping it when he  
remembered his position. Mickey just smiled in response and shifted his full attention to Ian.

“Hey,” The redhead said, his voice more gentle towards him than Mickey had recalled it being,

“Haven’t seen you around.” He glanced down at his lips and then up to his eyes.

“Had some shit to take care of,” Mickey stated, spotting many more freckles on Ian’s face than he  
had before now that they were standing under the golden rays of the setting sun, “You got a lot of  
freckles,” He said softly, ignoring the quiet chuckles his statement pulled from Lip’s mouth.

“You have some, too,” Ian said lifting his finger as if he was going to trace them, frowning when  
the King immediately turned his face away, “Sorry,” He said quickly, his face growing red, “the  
mead.”

“It’s fine,” Mickey muttered, clearing his throat and sniffing uncomfortably, “Partying like  
Gallaghers, huh?”

Lip nodded, “Hell yeah. When are you gonna join us?”

“Was thinking about tonight,” He answered, his eyes fixed on the still blushing man.

“Really?” Ian asked surprised.

“Mmmhmm,” He confirmed, “Need to blow off some steam.” He thought it would be impossible  
for Ian to turn a brighter shade of red, but his skin proved that he could. Mickey couldn’t help but  
grin at his embarrassment, finding it strangely endearing.

“Where should we meet you?” Lip asked, taking Ian’s cup out his hand so he could chug it.

“The woods down by the cliff,” Mikey replied, “Bring enough shit for Thomas and Mandy.”

“Mandy?” Lip questioned, confused.

“The Princess, asshole,” Ian snapped, giving him a hard elbow to his ribs.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Lip grimaced.

“Whatever,” Mickey stated, entirely unconcerned, “I’ll see you guys later.” Unable to stop himself  
from taking in the view, he gave Ian a once over as he bowed, admiring the strength of his back  
and the curve of his ass. Recognizing that the man wasn’t going to raise his head until he saw his  
boots retreat, Mickey turned and walked away, deciding that if All Fool’s Day ended the way he  
was hoping it would, he may grow to like it after all.

Chapter Nine:

By the time Ian and Lip were headed down towards the cliff later that evening, Ian was already  
high off his ass. His nerves had always been like kindling, only needing a small spark to ignite a  
blaze and the anticipation of hooking up with the King had created an inferno. In order to calm  
himself, he'd taken quite a few hits off his cannabis pipe, leaving him way more lit than he  
intended to be.

"You cool?" Lip asked, noticing how glassy his brother's eyes were as they ambled through the  
woods.

Ian just hummed a response that sounded like a cross between 'yes' and 'yum,' while trying not to  
trip over the gnarled roots of trees that seemed to be appearing out of nowhere to obstruct his path.

They reached the edge of the tree line and sat at the base of an old Oak, gazing across a narrow  
clearing to the cliff that overlooked the North Sea.

"Pretty here," Lip stated, drinking from his flask and passing it to Ian, who took a swig and leaned  
his head back against the bumpy bark.

"Not like home," Ian replied, looking up at the way the tree branches twisted together to form a  
canopy of leaves. The way the moonlight seeped through the uneven spaces between the limbs  
reminded him of the threadbare sheets he'd had on his bed when he was a child. He'd hide  
underneath them when his parents were fighting and watch as the flickering glow of his bedside  
candle shone through; reassuring him that even in the darkness there would always be some light.

"You miss it, huh?"

"I do," Ian confirmed, "You don't?"

Lip shook his head, "Nah, nothing there for me, man. So many more opportunities here."

Ian nodded his understanding. He'd never been as ambitious as Lip. He'd cursed his father's  
promotion to ambassador, while Lip had encouraged it. Unlike his brother who had aspirations of  
climbing the ladder to become a player on the World stage, Ian was content to stay on the farm in  
Galway until he was old and grey.

"Let's get fucked up!" A female voice exclaimed, taking the Gallaghers by surprise. They  
scrambled to their feet so they could bow and though he'd moved quickly, Ian felt like everything  
was in slow motion; a moment suspended in time with no discernible end or beginning. When he  
lifted his head and his eyes locked onto Mickey's he decided that being perpetually stuck in that  
second would be enough for him. Through his blown pupils he could see the desire the King held  
for him, recognizing that it may have matched his own.

"Looks like you got started without us," Mickey teased, noticing the red tinge around Ian's irises.

"Sorry," He said grinning shyly and sliding his back down the tree so that he was sitting on the  
packed dirt at its base.

"Don't be sorry," Mickey laughed as they all joined Ian on the ground. He held his palm out, "just  
pass that shit."

Ian reached into his pocket and handed over the pipe, relishing in the feeling of excessive warmth  
that pumped through his blood when their skin brushed. He could hear Mandy, Thomas and Lip  
gossiping about the festival but their voices were distorted like he was submerged in water and  
gossiping about the festival but their voices were distorted like he was submerged in water and  
they were by the banks of Sea. He wasn't able to clearly focus on anything but the King;  
enraptured by the way his blue eyes glimmered in the glean of the three quarter moon and the ease  
with which his full lips wrapped around the mouthpiece of the pipe when he took a hit. Noticing  
Ian's gaze, he lifted his eyebrows and took another inhale, holding in the smoke so he could draw  
it deep into his lungs before letting it leak out his nose.

"Gotta catch up with you right, Gallagher?" He grinned, chugging from the flask that Lip had  
given to him.

Moments were no longer moving slowly, instead they were flashing in front of him like snapshots.  
He wasn't sure what the topics of conversation were as the group moved easily from one to  
another. He found himself nodding along listlessly, when all he really wanted to do was lean over  
and fasten his lips to the King's so he could show him how profoundly he'd lusted for him, had  
missed him during the few days of his absence. He knew from the smirk on his handsome face  
that he was cognizant of his attention.

"How'd you end up with your tats?" Lip asked His Grace, after showing the King the triangle on  
his chest.

"Was going through a pretty fucking rebellious phase," He began, interrupted by Thomas and  
Mandy's wild laughter.

"You ever get out of that, Mick?" Thomas razzed, prompting the King to throw his middle finger  
up at him.

"I did the left, Thomas did the right," He continued.

"And my mom died two days later from a broken heart," Mandy interrupted, with a click of her  
tongue. Mickey's face fell and he shook his head in protest, "I'm fucking with you," She said  
gently.

"Don't," Mickey warned, the tension in the air growing palpable.

Ian wanted to press for further details, inform him that his mom was dead, too, say anything to  
make him feel better, but instead he announced that he had to piss.

"You alright to go on your own?" Lip questioned, conscious of the fact that his brother had been  
rocked prior to the gathering and had continued to hit the pipe consistently over the last hour.

"I'm a big boy. Don't need you to hold it for me," Ian assured him, much to the King's amusement.  
He walked into the woods, cursing the uneven ground as he did. He reached a fork in the path and  
thought better of traveling any further, fearing he wouldn't be able to find his way back. He didn't  
want to risk looking like a complete dumbass in front of the King, even though he was sure his  
selective mutism didn't help that cause. He grabbed his balls and tugged them a bit, trying to calm  
down the semi he'd been packing so he could relieve himself. He heard branches breaking under  
boots as he shook off, hoping that it was who he thought it may be. He tied his pants and turned  
around to see the King standing before him.

Instinctively he began to bow, shocked when he felt a hand tilt his chin up.

"Stop," He said softly, shaking his head, "Not when we're alone. Don't gotta do that shit when it's  
just you and me." He didn't move his fingers, instead he held Ian's face straight so he could look  
into his eyes. The redhead's breath caught in his throat as he watched him lick his lips libidinously.

The brunet cradled his free hand around the nape of his neck and slid the other up to his cheek,  
"C'mere," Mickey whispered, guiding Ian's lips down to his.

The kiss was hungry from the start, more tongue than lip, as they melted into each other in the  
way they'd fantasized about since first laid eyes on one another. Ian felt himself grow more  
intoxicated with every rotation of the King's tongue, captivated by the heady, intensity that existed  
by being connected to him. He moaned into his mouth as the brunet pushed his body back against  
the wide tree behind him. In one swift motion his arms were lifted above his head, a strong  
tattooed hand grasping onto his wrists as he continued to kiss him ravenously.

"Needed this," Ian groaned as the puffy lips trailed off of his and sucked on his neck with fervor,  
"Needed you."

"Yeah?" Mickey asked, his voice muffled against Ian's skin. He dropped he taller man's arms and  
ran his hands down his cut body so he could rest them on his hip bones, "Mickey, call me  
Mickey."

"Needed you, Mickey," Ian repeated softly, grunting at the sound of Mickey's stuttering breath.

"Fuck, you drive me crazy. D'you know that? How worked up you get me?" He slotted his mouth  
against Ian's again, groaning when he felt his big hands drop down to his ass tentatively, "Don't  
gotta be scared to fucking touch me," He promised into Ian's mouth, panting as the redhead bit  
into his lower lip and pulled it out so he could slide his tongue along his bottom teeth. Ian grabbed  
onto his ass cheeks roughly, attempting to squeeze as much as he could get in his grasp.

"I am," He admitted, pulling his mouth back so he could look into confused blue eyes, "I'm afraid  
to touch you."

"You're telling me this while your hands are kneading my ass, Gallagher. Seems like you're gonna  
get over it," Mickey teased.

"Dream about you. Since I first saw you, every night," Ian confessed, pecking him softly to ensure  
that he was actually standing there in front of him and not just a creation of his imagination.

"Think I fucking don't?" Mickey said, lifting his hand so he could rake through Ian's hair and pull  
him back towards him, starving for another taste. The sounds of their kisses blended into the songs  
of the crickets as they lost themselves in each other. Once they were both depleted of breath they  
reluctantly pulled apart, staring wantonly into the other's eyes.

When Ian dropped to his knees, cupped his hand around Mickey's erection, licked his lips and  
started to untie his pants, the brunet rubbed his forehead and sighed a heavy, "Fuck," knowing  
what he needed to do, but really not wanting to do it, "Don't."

Ian's face fell as he looked up at him completely baffled.

"Not like this," Mickey said, bending down so he could help Ian up. He rested his hands on his  
cheeks and stared into his eyes, "Want you to feel comfortable with me... when you're fucking  
sober. Don't want it to be like I demanded it or some shit and you had to comply."

"But I want to," Ian protested, wetting his pink, well kissed lips.

"Prove it then," He said gently, "You're too fucking nervous to even talk to me. Don't want it to  
be like that."

Ian just nodded in response, feeling both frustrated and embarrassed.

"Hey, hey," Mickey crooned, laying a sweet kiss against his lips, "Don't be like that, alright? I  
want you. It ain't that," He promised, "Just don't want you to feel like you're servicing me. I  
wanna fucking get to know you and shit."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, surprised, never considering that whatever this was would turn into anything  
serious.

Mickey nodded, "Kinda got me wondering shit about your goofy ass," He said with a grin.

"Wanna meet here tomorrow, so we can talk and stuff?" Ian asked, biting his lip expectantly.

"Got a lot of shit to do, but if I can I'll call for you, alright?"

"Mmmhmm," Ian hummed, feeling completely captivated as he stared at the perfect angles of his  
face.

"We better get back there before they smoke the rest of the shit," Mickey said, pressing one last  
kiss against Ian's lips.

"Like kissing you," Ian told him, drawing a grin from Mickey.

"We'll have to do a lot fucking more of it then."

Ian nodded his agreement and followed the other man out of the woods, sure that kissing the King  
had gotten him higher than any drug ever could.

Chapter Ten:

It was late afternoon when Mickey finally got out of his meeting with the Privy Council. It was  
just as brutal as he thought it would be after getting a sneak peek at topics from Sully the day  
before. His cousin was smug as ever while he delivered the information to the nobles and Mickey  
caught one too many digs for his liking. During their lunch break, he pulled Thomas aside to tell  
him to set up a rendezvous with Ian. While the council droned on about political topics, Mickey  
was crawling out of his skin with the anticipation of being with him.

When he exited of the castle and saw Ian sitting on the parapet, he gestured with his head for him  
to follow him towards the woods. Ian did what Thomas told him earlier that day and kept a  
significant distance between them. As soon as his feet crossed into the shade, he felt his body slam  
hard against the trunk of a tree, eager lips pressed against his. The kiss was ravenous from the  
start, the neediness and want consuming them both. Lips and tongues sought the other man  
greedily as hands went from cheeks to hair and back again.

“I was worried you wouldn’t have time for me,” Ian admitted against his lips, an airy gasp  
escaping his mouth and making its way into Mickey’s as the King kissed him more fervently.

“Want to make time for you,” Mickey assured him resting his forehead against Ian’s and allowing  
their noses to nuzzle as they panted for breath. He cradled his hand around the base of Ian’s skull  
and curled his fingers into red hair. He had no idea what it was about the other man that made him  
covet him so intensely, but it was a vehemence he’d never experienced before. He tilted his head  
so he could lay a soft peck on his lips before pulling away from him, “C’mon.”

“How was your meeting?” Ian inquired, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked deeper  
into the woods, “Am I allowed to ask you that kinda thing?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes and gave him a half grin of reassurance, “You can ask me whatever the  
fuck you want, man.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” Mickey confirmed, biting his lip and looking down at his boot, cringing at how fast  
his heart was beating just from walking next to him. He wasn’t sure if he loved or hated how out  
of control Ian made him feel.

"Are the rumors about you having a bad temper true?" He asked tentatively, surprised when  
Mickey punched out a sharp laugh.

"That why you're so nervous around me?" Mickey asked, rolling his tongue under his bottom lip,

"Fucking scared?" The idea that Ian could be afraid of him made him feel queasy. He knew his  
reputation and was well aware that he'd fucking earned that reputation, but he didn't want to turn  
Ian off because of it.

"A little I guess," Ian replied, looking at Mickey through the side of his eye.

"You don't gotta be," He said softly, "I do..." he paused, "I do got a shitty fucking temper. My  
mom used to say I was born pissed off." He picked up a small grouping of rocks that was on their  
path and put them in his pocket, "But..." he rubbed his forehead and sighed, "You're not gonna  
say anything about what you know about me, right?"

"What?" Ian asked surprised, "I would never. I'm not a snitch. They could put me on the fucking  
rack and my mouth would stay shut."

"That right, Galway?" He asked with a smirk, "They keep it real loyal where you're from?"

Ian smiled and shrugged, "I mean, I do."

Mickey returned the grin and said, "This way,” leading Ian in a different direction than he had  
taken the night before. They walked a few more feet until they came across a pond that was  
surrounded by overgrown trees shrouded with thick hanging vines. The dense moss that encircled  
the banks matched the hue of the lily pads that bobbed and floated in the water.

"Pretty," Ian breathed in awe of how transcendent it all felt. His eyes were drawn to the areas of  
the pond that were glistening from the few filtered rays of sun that made it down to surface.  
Mickey felt compelled to say something incredibly corny about Ian being pretty but decided to  
hold back, instead asking, "You like it?"

Ian nodded and smiled at him, "I do." For the first time, the redhead initiated the kiss, resting one  
hand on Mickey's hip while the other went to his cheek. It was chaste in comparison to the kissing  
they'd done before, but Mickey was pleased that Ian felt comfortable enough to lead a kiss at all.

"You skip rocks?" Mickey asked, pulling the ones he'd collected out of his pocket and handing a  
few over to Ian.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much a rock skipping champion," Ian informed him with a smirk.

"Oh yeah? Got some skills do you?" Mickey chuckled a bit, raising an eyebrow as Ian tossed the  
stone and made it jump four times, "Shit, not bad."

"You better?" Ian challenged, biting his lip to hold back the goofy grin that was threatening to  
spread across his face as Mickey got into position.

"I am," He replied with a wink, throwing the rock and skipping it clear across the diameter of the  
pond.

"You're supposed to be intimidating me less," Ian said with a laugh.

"Skipping rocks gets you going, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, letting his eyes travel up and down  
the redhead's body.

"You get me going," He flirted, his cheeks tinged pink.

Mickey smiled, shook his head and turned back to the water, casting another stone, "You got me  
goin' fucking crazy for you, you know that?"

"ní féidir liom a chur ar mo shúile uaire de tú," Ian whispered as he admired the perfection King's  
profile.

"Gaelic?"

"Mmm," he nodded, "is é Gaeilge mo chéad theanga."

"What'd you say?"

"Gaelic is my first language," Ian replied, scratching the side of his nose.

"Before that," Mickey pressed.

"It's impossible for me to take my eyes of you," He confessed shyly.

Mickey licked his lips and felt his own cheeks heat up, "Fuck," he muttered, "You're gonna be  
trouble for me, man."

"Trouble can be kinda fun, right?" Ian said, reaching out to grab the King's hand and pull him  
down to straddle his lap. He grasped onto Mickey's ass and held it still as he rutted his hard on  
against it, "So hot."

Mickey rested his hands on Ian's cheeks and kissed him ardently. As their tongues tangled and  
their connection intensified, the brunet began to roll his hips, moaning softly as his erection  
knocked Ian's stomach with every movement, "Fuck, I want you."

"Take me then," Ian rasped, sliding one of his hands down so he could wrap it around Mickey's  
girth and stroke it slowly, wishing he was touching his skin rather than the fabric of his pants. The  
King dropped his mouth to Ian's neck, feeling the vibration of his rapid pulse against his lips. He  
started to suck as the hand on his cock gained speed and the cock against his ass pushed up  
harder.

The sound of a quiet whine coming from the man under him had him gone, "Goddamn," Mickey  
groaned into his skin before knocking Ian's hand off of his dick.

"What?" Ian asked breathlessly, looking up at him with confused eyes, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Mickey said as Ian's face dropped, "Fuck, nothing..." He assured him, "you're  
perfect." He took the hand he had pushed away and kissed his freckled knuckles. "The sun's  
going down. I gotta go sit at dinner with hundreds of people looking at me and I ain't gonna do it  
with cum on my pants."

"You were close?" He questioned with a smirk. Mickey nodded his head, pleasantly surprised  
when he felt one of the Ian's fingers push past his lips. "Got such a sexy mouth," He crooned,  
gasping when the brunet swirled his tongue around his digit, making it impossible not to think  
about what that mouth could do to his cock. In response Ian dropped his other hand to the bulge  
that remained in Mickey's pants, earning a laugh from the King.

"You're fucking bad aren't you?" He asked biting his lip and raising an eyebrow at Ian.

"I can be," The redhead admitted, sighing at the loss when Mickey stood up and smoothed down  
his pants.

"Can't wait for you to show me," He said with a grin, "But now...we gotta go."

As they walked back through the woods the dusk cast shadows on their faces, making their time  
together feel more clandestine that it had moments before.

"So you never told me about your meeting..." Ian began, compelling himself to be more forward.

"Wasn't great," Mickey said vaguely, nudging his knuckle against the side of his nose.

“Why not?” Ian asked, breaking a rather large stick with his boot as they trekked on.

“The council wants me to have this Princess from Spain visit so I can meet her and then fucking  
marry her..."

"Why would they want you to marry her?" He questioned, screwing down his eyebrows in  
concern.

"Cause it would good for an alliance with Spain..." Mickey replied, biting his nail beds anxiously.

He spit out the skin and looked at Ian, noticing how perplexed he looked.

"Are you interested in women like that?"

“Nah," Mickey shook his head, "but it don't matter if I am or if I'm not, I gotta marry one and get  
her knocked up," he paused, "with a boy."

Ian just nodded, unsure of what to say. They were about to reach the edge of the woods when he  
asked, "So is she coming?"

Mickey shrugged, "Not sure yet. They're laying down a shit ton of pressure though."

"Can't you just tell them to fuck off? I mean, you're the king."

Mickey grinned at the innocence of the question before shaking his head regretfully,  
"Unfortunately there's a lot more to it than that." He stopped in his tracks so he could wrap his  
arms around Ian's waist, "It make you feel less intimated now that you know that I don't run my  
own fucking life?" He tried to hide the insecurity he felt while uttering the question, but Ian saw  
through it.

He bit his lip and placed a hand on Mickey's cheek, "Makes me think that we're more alike than I  
thought."

"And what does that do for you?" Mickey questioned, taken aback by the statement.

"Hurt for us," Ian answered softly, pressing his lips against Mickey's and wishing he didn't have to  
watch him walk away, but feeling a smile pull up on his lips as he did.

Chapter Eleven:

When Thomas came to his quarters that morning, Ian had hoped it was because the King had  
requested his presence in his chambers. After days of stealing kisses from each other’s lips in the  
sanctuary of the woods, Ian was more than ready to fuck him. He’d had relations with other men  
in the past, but it felt different with Mickey. The most casual of touches shared between them sent  
charges of energy through his body, awakening a level of emotion and need he’d never known  
had existed within him. He couldn’t help but find himself disappointed when the invitation he  
received was for a game of football rather than a romp in bed.

“You look let down,” Thomas had remarked, his eyes soft with compassion.  
Ian shook his head in denial and forced a smile, “It’ll be fun.”

“What's wrong with fun? It’s good, you know,” The brown eyed man had said patting Ian’s cheek  
companionably, “with him, this way is good.”

Though he wasn’t exactly sure what Thomas had meant by the statement, it had offered him some  
solace. He pulled on his chemise and knocked on Lip’s door.

“One minute!” Lip’s voice croaked. The familiar squeak of bed springs and chorus of impassioned  
grunting had him feeling both revolted and envious.

“I’ll meet you out there,” Ian called back, deciding that he didn’t need to stand there and listen to  
his brother work towards completion.

The day was perfect for sport with a cool breeze moving the air, ready to refresh sweaty bodies,  
and not a cloud in the sky. As Ian made his way to the meadow on the North side of the grounds  
he caught sight of the King talking to Cardinal Woolsmith on the balcony outside of what he  
assumed was his bedroom. The older man had his hand resting on his shoulder while Mickey  
shook his head dolefully. Even from tens of feet below Ian could recognize the concern in those  
pale blue eyes and wondered what was causing his distress. He knew that there was much about  
Mickey’s position that he didn’t understand, but he wanted to. Watching the exchange, he felt an  
overwhelming desire to wrap Mickey in his arms and kiss his worries away, but he feared his  
kisses didn’t hold that kind of power.

He walked to the field, aggravated that he was going have to pretend that he didn’t just see  
Mickey looking upset. He didn’t want to act like he gave a shit about playing football when all  
that was on his mind was being with him, listening to him, rolling around the bed with him.  
Football was a brutal sport, but he had a feeling that the afternoon was going to be more difficult  
for him that he initially expected.

“You made it,” Thomas exclaimed, shaking Ian’s hand excitedly. The redhead grinned, knowing  
that his attendance was never in question. If the King asks someone to join, it is expected that the  
person will join. Ian knew that when it came down to it, he was no exception, “Where’s Lip?”

“On his way. He’ll be here any minute,” Ian replied, feeling several sets of eyes boring into him.  
After a quick glance around he realized that he was the only attendee that had neither noble nor  
blue blood.

“Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” Sully asked approaching the men with a skeptical  
look on his face.

“Ian, allow me to present the Duke of Stansbury, Sullivan Milkovich. Sully, this is Sir Ian  
Gallagher. He’s the son of the new Irish ambassador Sir Francis Gallagher.

“I see,” Sully said giving Ian a tight lipped grin, “And why is he here?”

Heat bubbled under Ian’s skin, but it wasn’t to flush his cheeks. He clenched his fist and urged his  
face to remain impassive, though he felt impelled to tell off the dickhead.

“He likes football,” Thomas said simply giving Ian a reassuring pat on the back, “Don’t you?”

“I do,” Ian replied cooly, glad to see Lip ambling over the hill and heading towards them.

“And here’s his brother, Sir Phillip Gallagher,” Thomas said as Lip approached, “Lip, this is the  
Duke of Stansbury, Sullivan Milkovich, Sully this is Lip.”

Lip reached his hand out to shake Sully’s, surprised when the other man didn’t extend his.

“Lip?” He asked with a sneer, “Why do you go by Lip rather than Phillip?”

“Why do you go by Sully instead of Sullivan?” Lip shot back with a wry grin, “I’d say both  
nicknames are equally stupid, wouldn’t you?”

Thomas attempted to hold back his laughter while Ian rubbed his forehead and sighed at his  
brother’s brazenness.

“You’re a mouthy peasant aren’t you?” Sully derided, glancing over at a few of his friends that  
were standing nearby and raising his eyebrows. They chuckled and shook their heads in disbelief.

“Not a peasant,” Ian informed him through gritted teeth.

Sully looked pointedly at his hands at then to Lip’s, “Your hands say otherwise. They’re calloused  
from work.”

Lip moved to step to him, but Ian got between them, pushing his brother gently by the chest,

“Don’t,” He warned, his voice low, “Not fucking worth it.”

“You want to fight me?” Sully guffawed and turned to his friends so he could snark, “Clearly a  
peasant! He seeks to brawl with his fists!”

“C’mon, Sully,” Thomas said laying a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Let’s be gentlemen.”  
Sully was about to respond when they were all interrupted by a boisterous voice calling out;

“Ready to do this, Fuckers?”

Ian was always glad to see the King, but in that moment he was more pleased than usual. He  
quickly bowed, just as the rest of the men on the field did when Mickey joined them. He lifted his  
head to notice Mickey licking his lips and averting his eyes from Ian’s direction, indicating that  
they had just been on him.

“Captains remain as they usually are: me and Sully. I’ll have first pick,” Mickey said running his  
hand through his hair.

“Just as you usually do,” Sully teased with a click of his tongue.

“Don’t be such a bitch, Sully,” Mickey chided, his lips twisting up in a sardonic grin, “You know,  
I’m feeling like a nice guy today… you choose first.”

“Really?” The Duke asked surprised. In response, Mickey just waved his hand to spur him on,

“Alright then.” He ran his eyes over the men as if he was assessing weaponry, “I’ll take the red  
haired peasant,” Sully said finally after for deliberating for too long.

The statement took Mickey aback, partially due to his annoyance that Sully chose, but mostly  
because he spoke to him in such a demeaning way.

“Name’s Ian,” The redhead stated, the indignation apparent on his face as he moved to stand by  
the asshole.

“What did you call him?” Mickey asked deliberately, knowing that he should keep his mouth shut,  
but feeling his anger push it open.

“I say peasant in only the most complimentary of ways, Your Grace,” Sully said with mock  
innocence, “His shoulders are broad from years of shoveling shit. I know he’ll be an asset to my  
team.”

Before Mickey could say another word, he got a deadly look of warning from Thomas and Ian,  
both silently demanding that he let the statement lie, so begrudgingly he did. They continued to  
choose their teams, Mickey quickly picking Thomas just as he usually did and Sully proving what  
a bitch he was in selecting Lip, “Because he won’t go after me if he’s on my team.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” The curly haired man muttered, his blue eyes shooting daggers at the  
Duke.

The game was barbarous, with each of the men seeking to take out their frustrations on the other  
players’ bodies. Sully’s strategy of picking the two Irishmen for his team backfired, because they  
refused to provide him any protection, allowing him to get positively wrecked by the King, who  
seemed to be playing with vengeance. By the end of the match, they all were dripping with sweat  
and blood, bodies covered in dirt and bruises.

“We gonna go get some mead?” Thomas asked, when the game was complete and only he,  
Mickey, and the Irishmen remained on the field.

Mickey watched as Ian lifted his chemise and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow, thus  
exposing chiseled abdominal muscles and the deep cut V that disappeared into his pants. Unable  
to remove his eyes from the toned body, Mickey shook his head, “No, I’m gonna go swim in the  
lake. Take Lip and give him some of my best shit for all the opening he gave me on Sully.”

Thomas and Lip wore matching smirks while Mickey purposefully ignored the satisfaction on  
their face.

Seemingly oblivious to the stares, Ian spit blood out of his mouth and groused, “I gave you some  
pretty fucking good openings, too.”

Mickey nodded, amused by the competitiveness he’d seen come out of the otherwise easy-going  
man during the game, “You did,” He confirmed, glaring at Thomas and wondering why the fuck  
he and Lip were still standing there.

“We’re going,” Thomas announced quickly, nudging Lip’s arm. Lip grinned at his brother before  
heading off with the other man.

Wordlessly, Mickey walked towards the woods, hearing Ian’s footsteps trailing behind him. As  
soon as they reached their refuge they melted together, lips on lips, while hips pressed against  
hips. They kissed fervently, undeterred by the metallic taste of blood or the tack of sweat between  
them, “Need to fucking see you,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s mouth, scrambling to yank the  
redhead’s shirt over his head, sighing when he was denied the view by Ian’s eager lips reaffixing  
to his. He allowed his hands to travel down the dips of his body, loving the way Ian’s breath  
stuttered under his touch. He swallowed the gasp that escaped the other man’s lips as he worked  
to untie Ian’s pants and peered down through his dark lashes at how they pooled at his feet.

Pulling his mouth away in an attempt to admire his form, the King groaned his discouragement  
when Ian’s lips moved to his neck, sucking and kissing him adamantly. With the force necessary  
to disengage his eager lover, Mickey pushed him against a tree and finally looked over his body,

“Goddamn,” He breathed as his Ian panted under his stare, “You’re gorgeous.” He’d imagined  
what Ian looked like under his clothes, but not even his most vivid dreams compared to the flesh  
and bone reality.

Ian closed his eyes and bit his lip as Mickey pressed a kiss against his shoulder before tracing his  
tongue across his collarbone and down his sternum, “Cac naofa,” He moaned, drawing a chuckle  
from Mickey.

“Hmm?” The brunet hummed still licking and sucking on his chest.

“Holy shit,” Ian translated, grinning down at Mickey who peeled his lips off of him for long  
enough to smirk up at him.

“You fuck in Gaelic, huh?”

“Stoptar suas,” Ian said taking a deep inhale and closing his eyes as Mickey hunched over to lick  
around his bellybutton, “Shut up.”

“You’re telling me to ‘shut up,’ huh?” Mickey teased, tilting his blood tinged cheek onto the hand  
that Ian had dropped next to it, “Guess you’re feeling comfortable…”

Ian smiled down at him with hooded eyes and tangled his fingers into dark locks.

“Wanna see what it looks like when the King bows down to you?” He asked licking his lips hotly.

Rendered speechless by the question, Ian nodded and moaned when Mickey dropped to his knees  
and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock.

“So big,” He crooned, dragging his tongue up and down the shaft of Ian’s smooth, hard cock,  
wetting every inch. He traced the tip around the head, swirling as he suctioned his mouth around  
him.

Ian squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that if he looked down at the man on his knees before him,  
he would lose it. The sensation, along with the visual, would be too much to bear. He felt his  
whole body thrumming as the King’s talented tongue worked him. When he took him fully down  
his throat, Ian found himself whimpering at the pleasure, the vibrations of Mickey’s laughter  
shooting through his cock and down to his tightening balls, “Not gonna last,” He warned. A hand  
reached up to pinch his ass, prompting him to open his eyes and look down at Mickey, who’d  
removed his cock from his mouth.

“Open your fucking eyes, alright,” He directed, sticking his tongue out so he could press it against  
Ian’s slit, pulling a rivulet of precum away from it, “Want you to be here with me.”

“I’m here with you,” Ian assured him holding onto the sides of Mickey’s head as he took him back  
in.

“Fuck,” He cried as his legs began to wobble and his knees grew weak. He shook his head,  
ordering his eyes to stay open so they could focus on the glassy blue eyes staring back at him.  
Seeing the King’s full lips stretched around his cock and his shaft deep in his mouth pushed him  
over the edge, “I’m fucking done.”

He saw the corners of Mickey’s mouth turn up as he began to suck him more vehemently. Taking  
the fact that he didn’t pull back as an indication that he could let it go, he did. Within seconds he  
was moaning while pouring his release down Mickey’s throat, the brunet swallowing it down  
eagerly.

Ian desperately tried to pull air into his lungs as Mickey grinned up at him, his lips swollen and  
red; his chin messy and wet. He smiled back, thinking that the sight was more beautiful than that  
of the cliffs he missed so profoundly, “Beautiful man,” he sighed, basking in the afterglow.

“Your,” He corrected, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Your man.”

Ian felt his heart pound so hard that he thought it would jump out his chest if he didn’t lay his hand  
over it, “My beautiful man,” he said softly, feeling as though he’d just fallen in love.

Chapter Twelve:

Mickey watched as the door to his chambers creaked open and sighed when Henry peeked in.  
Rolling his eyes, the King motioned impatiently for him to get the show on the road, prompting  
the chamberlain to quickly usher Svetlana into the room and close the door. She curtseyed low.

"You bring it?" He asked standing up to approach her, sighing when she immediately walked  
passed him and sat on the bed.

"No 'hello' for me, Mikhailo? No 'how was your day'?" She groused beginning to loosen her  
corset.

"Hello Sveta," Mickey said as pleasantly as he could, "What took you so fucking long?"

"Your uncle Charles is not a strong finisher," She replied simply, "It is very annoying."

"I..." Mickey paused, closed his eyes and cringed, "don't wanna fucking know that shit."

Svetlana shrugged, pulled a vial out from between her breasts, and handed it to Mickey.

"He say anything interesting?" Mickey asked, sitting in the chair and rolling the glass from one  
hand to the other.

"Not this time," She frowned, lacing up her bodice, "I thought you did not care for the lavender  
oil. You told me that you did not need this flowery shit, now all of a sudden you request it," She  
teased, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look on her face, "Does this have something to do  
with a certain virginal redheaded?"

"Fuck off," Mickey scoffed, unable to hold back the smile that was turning up his lips.

"You never had me bring you the good oil with any of your other men," She stated matter-of-factly, "You like him."

Mickey didn't respond, instead he turned over the closed vial, eyes fixed on the way the thick oil  
slid down the side of the glass.

"Does this mean he will be granted the privilege of keeping his life?" She asked pointedly.

"Don't," Mickey cautioned, glaring at her with pursed lips and shaking his head as if he couldn't  
handle the thought of Ian losing his.

"You do like him," She affirmed, clicking her tongue, "Maybe somebody someday would have  
liked them, too."

"Sveta, don't you think for one fucking second I wouldn't send you on a date with the  
executioner's sword," He warned with a fire behind his eyes.

In some inexplicable way, Svetlana had endeared herself to the King, becoming one of his most  
trusted friends. She was not too intimidated to share her thoughts and opinions. "You do not  
frighten me," She reminded him, "Life and death are the same to me. I have lived one hundred  
lives and died one hundred deaths. It makes no difference."

"Alright, whatever." Mickey squeezed the bridge of nose and closed his eyes in frustration.

A knock on the door spurred Svetlana to stand, smooth out her dress and lay a kiss on Mickey's  
forehead, "Have a nice night with your Catholic, Mikhailo. Make sure he says all of his prayers."  
He slipped the vial into his pocket and muttered, "Fuck off" as she exited the room.

"Your Grace, I have Sir Ian Gallagher to see you," Henry announced, prompting Mickey to rise  
from the chair and look to Ian, who lowered his head.

Henry was barely out of the room when the King approached Ian and tilted his chin up with  
tattooed fingers. "Don't ever do that shit in here, ok?" He urged, pressing a gentle kiss against his  
lips, "You don't gotta worry about anyone giving a fuck."

Ian nodded but it was impossible for Mickey not to recognize his crestfallen expression.

"What's your problem?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the redhead as if he was trying to read  
his face.

"Thought you said you weren't into women," Ian stated, his chin jutting while his lips were rolled  
in tight.

"I'm not," Mickey assured him, resting his hand on his cheek looking at him earnestly, "The fuck's  
this about?"

"Just saw your whore leaving as I was coming in," He replied flatly, "You could've at least  
scheduled more time between us."

"What? No." Mickey shook his head adamantly, "It's not like that. She brings me shit that people  
can't know I got and finds out information I need from the guys she fucks, but we don't fuck.  
Never have, never will."

"Ok," Ian said, not looking completely convinced. He closed his eyes as Mickey began to kiss his  
neck and slid his hands up to the back of his head.

"She could never give me what I need," Mickey informed him, "Not like you."

"What do you need?" He asked, gasping when one of the King's hands made its way below his  
waistband, wrapping around his cock.

"You know what I need," He said hotly as he sucked a mark into the soft skin under Ian's ear.

"Yeah?"

"Mmmhmmm," Mickey hummed against his lips, opening as Ian's tongue sought mingle with his.  
He reached into his pocket and tossed the oil onto his bed, while pulling Ian's shirt over his head,  
"Can't get enough of this body."

"You're about to get a lot more of it," Ian informed him as he untied his pants, "If that's what you  
want..."

Mickey nodded, stripping his own body of its clothes, "Want you to fuck me," He confirmed,  
"Fill me up."

"Gonna take care of you," Ian promised, pushing Mickey onto the bed. They intertwined their  
limbs so they were tangled like strings as they kissed furiously, desperate to get lost in the other  
man's body. Ian pinned Mickey's shoulders down to the mattress, beginning to lick and suck his  
way from his lips to his chest, down his stomach and to his groin, "Perfect," he murmured,  
bringing Mickey's hard cock into his mouth and bobbing hungrily, loving the way his lover's dick  
laid heavy on his tongue; savoring the sweet taste of his skin and the saltiness of the precum  
leaking down the back of his throat.

"Feels good," Mickey grunted, licking his lips and tilting his head back on the pillow as Ian  
sucked him off. He focused on the crimson velvet draped over the bed as Ian gave him the most  
amazing head. Just when he thought he was about to lose it, Ian pulled his mouth off of his dick,  
grabbing behind his knees and pushing his legs up so his mouth could gain full access to his ass.

"Goddamn, look at this ass," He praised, laying a scattering of kisses against his full mounds,

"Got the best ass." He pulled up a bit so he could free one of his hands and spank him hard,  
grasping hard onto the cheek after he did; the unexpected act caused Mickey's eyes to grow wide.

"Gonna own this ass, you know that?"

Mickey was pleasantly surprised by how dominant Ian was in bed. He was used to him being  
somewhat timid around him and as much as his sweetness had attracted him, he loved that he  
could lay it down in the bedroom, "Show me how you'll fucking own it."

Ian wasted no time dipping his face down between Mickey's legs so he could use his tongue to lap  
and swirl at his rim, causing the tight muscles to twitch then loosen in pleasure. Mickey felt his  
legs begin to shake as Ian fucked into his hole with his tongue. In response to his trembles, Ian  
held Mickey's legs tighter and narrowed his tongue to push in deeper, "Fuuuck," Mickey groaned,  
as Ian continued to expertly open him with his tongue. He ate him like he was starving and  
Mickey unapologetically whined and squirmed under the pressure. Ian's licking and pressing had  
him gasping with each pass. Just as he was about to tell Ian he was ready, the smell of lavender  
permeated his nostrils and a slick finger breached his hole. Ian fingered him slowly as his mouth  
made its way back to his cock, intent on giving him as much pleasure as he could.

The fullness in his ass as Ian added two more fingers and the feeling of his hot, ready mouth  
wrapped around his dick, when coupled together, were almost too much to bear, "Get the fuck in  
me," Mickey demanded, tugging Ian's hair gently so he'd lift up. He watched through hooded eyes  
as his lover made his way back up his body, smiling when he captured his lips. He rested a hand  
on the back of his neck and kissed him salaciously, groaning into his mouth as he felt pressure  
against his hole. Ian inched in slowly, keeping his lips glued to Mickey's as his cock stretched out  
his hole.

"Tá tú chomh daingean," Ian grunted into his mouth as he hooked both of his arms under  
Mickey's armpits and held his hands together over the brunet's head.

"Hmm?" Mickey moaned as Ian shimmied his hips slightly to make more space for himself.

"You're so tight," He translated, peeling their lips apart so he could rest his forehead against  
Mickey's and drive in deeper until his hips were pressing against his lover's. Slowly, he began to  
roll his hips, the intensity of their connection and deliciousness of the friction going straight to his  
head. "You get me fucking high," he crooned, feeling Mickey's ass tighten and contract around  
him as he began to pump into him at a more rhythmic pace.

"Oh yeah... fuck me," The King sighed, throwing his head back, immediately feeling Ian's mouth  
suction to he center of his neck as his body was jarred over and over again under redhead's force.

"Fuck me, baby."

The room was filled with a cacophony of skin slapping and pleasured moaning as the fucked hard.  
Mickey found his mind momentarily wandering to the outside of his door, hoping that Henry did  
his job and was the only one who could hear the racket he and Ian were creating. He attempted to  
quiet down, but when Ian's strong hand dropped to his cock and began to stroke it along with his  
thrusts, Mickey knew it was going to be a fruitless effort.

He started to roll his hips up to meet Ian's, wrapping his arms around the redhead's neck so he  
could pull him down and shove his tongue into his mouth.

"Díreach mar sin," Ian cried, biting on Mickey's bottom lip as he pounded into him, "Just like  
that."

Their bodies were moving in perfect synchronization as climbed towards their climaxes. "Give it  
to me," Mickey sighed as Ian's rested his forehead against his chest so he could angle his hips to  
drive into his prostate. It took only a few hard jabs to have Mickey keening while he came all over  
his stomach and Ian's hand. His body was trembling through aftershocks as Ian fucked into him,  
shooting his load into Mickey; streams of heat pulsing deep into his body.

Ian collapsed on top of him, allowing their bodies to fuse together as they breathed as one.

Chapter Thirteen:

The pressure of Ian’s body lying on top of his made Mickey feel as though the weight of the  
world, the demands of his country, were lifted from his shoulders. He loosened his arms from their  
protective hold around Ian’s waist and allowed his hands to travel up the dip of his back; soft,  
warm skin under the pads of his fingertips. He felt Ian smile against the crook of his neck as he  
tilted his chin down to lay a gentle kiss onto the top of his head.

“Mo fhear álainn.”

Mickey found himself getting lost in the words that were muttered flush against his flesh.  
Mindlessly he began to play with red locks, massaging Ian’s scalp soothingly as he did. “You’re  
gonna make me wanna learn Gaelic, man,” He said, grinning down at the hooded green eyes that  
were now looking up at him.

“Sorry,” Ian blushed, puckering his lips out a bit to ask for a kiss, which Mickey was more than  
willing to give him. “My beautiful man, that’s what I said,” he whispered, the expression on his  
face gentle and moony.

“Say it again,” The King prompted, moving his hand so his palm was resting on his lover’s cheek.

“Mo fhear álainn,” Ian repeated more deliberately, exhaling into the kiss the brunet pressed heavy  
on his lips.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Mickey asked, shaking his head in wonderment that Ian  
even existed, let alone was laying molded to him in his bed as if he’d the found the place where  
he’d always belonged.

“Galway,” He replied with a grin, “You ever been?”

“I haven’t, but if I would’ve fucking known that I could find you there, I would’ve visited.”  
Mickey smirked and pushed Ian’s hair off of his forehead.

“Visit implies you would’ve left,” Ian said, giving him a sad grin that reflected the reality of their  
situation too much for either of their liking. He rolled away from Mickey and sighed, looking at  
the draping above them.

“Do you miss it?” Mickey asked, pushing up to his elbow and tracing his finger down the cuts of  
Ian’s abdomen.

“Chailleann mé é a lán.” Ian nodded, “I miss it a lot.” He turned onto his side so he could see  
Mickey, taking the hand that was trailing down his body into his own. “But you make me miss it  
less, ‘cause if I was there I’d miss you more.”

“You're definitely gonna be trouble,” The King conceded, inhaling thoughtfully as he studied his  
face, “Make me feel outta control, Gallagher.” He dragged his thumb across Ian’s lower lip before  
leaning in and pulling it between his teeth, sliding his tongue deep into his lover’s mouth.  
They burrowed into each other's bodies, desperate to get as close as humanly possible. Their  
tongues twisted together as they grabbed onto as much of their lover as they could; taking turns  
being kissed into the sheets. When Ian pinned Mickey down they reluctantly pulled their mouths  
apart, panting for breath. Hovering over him the redhead dragged his index finger down the slope  
of Mickey's nose, "Rinneadh tú breá."

In response, the King looked into his eyes affectionately waiting for him to realize he hadn't  
uttered the statement in English.

He grinned and curled his fingers into dark hair, "You were made perfectly."

Mickey shook his head, feeling his cheeks flush, "Shit, I got a lot of flaws. Stick with me and  
you'll fucking see 'em."

"Bet I have more," He replied with a smirk.

"Not possible," Mickey said, reaching up so could tilt Ian's chin down and kiss him, "You're  
pretty as fuck" kiss, "sweet" kiss, "can get scrappy as hell" kiss, "a beast in the sheets."

Ian laughed, "Went easy on you."

"Did you now?" The King as licking his lips and raising his eyebrows.

"Mmmhmm. When I saw your whore walking out when I was coming in..." he tisked and shook  
his head, "wanted to slam you against the wall and make you beg for my cock, pound the fuck out  
of your ass."

"I mean, that sounds pretty fun," Mickey stated wide eyed, pleasantly surprised by Ian's filthy  
mouth. "So this shy shit... not really you?"

Ian shrugged, "I guess I can be shy until I warm up." Grinning he leaned over to kiss the tip of

Mickey's nose, "Especially around royalty."

Mickey rolled his eyes and grinned, "Look really fucking hot to me. Don't gotta work on warming  
you up anymore do I?"

"Corny," Ian chided, laughing wildly when the brunet shot up to body slam him down onto the  
mattress.

"So you fuck me good and all of a sudden you think you can give me shit, huh?" He asked,  
holding Ian's wrists together over his head.

"I can, can't I?" He asked, his voice tinged with the timidity Mickey had grown accustomed to.

"'Course you can," Mickey confirmed, looking down at him adoringly, "Think at this point you  
can get away with a lot of things. Got me wrapped around those freakishly long ass fingers."

The redhead shook his hands free and wiggled his fingers playfully against Mickey's cheeks. The  
King snapped his head to the side so he could try to bite them drawing another loud laugh from  
Ian, who tried to bite his tattooed fingers back. The attempts to gnaw were replaced by soft kisses  
on knuckles, before Ian extended his arms so his lover would lay on his chest. "This is the most  
comfortable bed I've ever been in. These silk sheets?" Ian asked, yawning heartily.

"They are," Mickey replied, settling down onto his chest and feeling the stress of his day melt  
away. Ian's skin felt more luxurious to him than the bed linens ever had.

"I'm gonna get addicted to it."

"Oh yeah? What about me?"

"You're alright, too," Ian assured him with a grin, rubbing his hand up and down Mickey's  
muscular arm, loving how strong he was. Moving it over to squeeze his tight pec, he felt blood  
begin to pump down his body and stiffen his dick. The brunet smirked when he felt it press  
against his thigh, needy for attention.

"Got something going on there," Mickey noted, reaching down so he could grasp the cock firmly  
in his fist, "What're we gonna do about this?"

Ian tucked his arms behind his head with a mischievous look on his face, "You got pretty good  
form riding a horse, wondering if you also got it when you're riding dick."

"You ain't ever had anyone ride you like I can," Mickey assured him, sticking his tongue out  
wickedly as he squatted over Ian's groin.

"Prove it," He prompted, lifting his eyebrows in challenge, "Your Grace."

Mickey shook his head and gave Ian the finger before straddling his legs out further while  
gripping Ian's member so he could line himself up. Without wasting another moment he plunged  
himself down on it, sheathing him completely. They both groaned in appreciation of the fullness,

"Shit, you stretch me out good," The King crooned blowing out a sharp exhale.

"Can you handle it?" He asked biting his lip salaciously.

"Fuck off," Mickey scoffed, engaging his strong thighs and beginning to pull himself up and drop  
himself low on the huge cock at a building pace. Eager to show the other man just what he was  
made of, he leaned down to push off his sides, fucking down on him hard. Just when Ian started to  
get lost in the rhythm, Mickey changed it up.

He began rolling his hips at a painstakingly slow pace making sure that Ian could feel every inch  
of his dick moving in and out of his tight ass. Using his toned legs, he leaned forward so all that  
was left inside him was the tip of Ian's cock before arching back again to become fully seated,  
over and over, driving the man below him absolutely crazy.

"Faigh é," Ian moaned, sounding completely shattered, "Get it." His head involuntarily fell to the  
pillow, eyes closed tight in ecstasy. Each time he was forced to succumb to the ravishment, he  
willed himself to pull up again, leaning back on his elbows so he could watch his sexy ass King  
ride his cock, "Goddamn, you look good."

Mickey didn't respond, instead he bit his lower lip while a small smirk played on the corner of his  
mouth. He kept up the languid pace, which according to his whines, was positively destroying  
Ian. His keening had Mickey wondering how he'd ever thought his lover was a quiet guy. He  
loved every single groan that he drew from him, and how free Ian was at sharing them. Still  
working his legs and bouncing his ass, Mickey hunched down, putting his hands on the redhead's  
cheeks and kissing him hard. Ian kissed him back eagerly as he dug his fingernails into Mickey's  
fleshy mounds.

"So perfect," He complimented, watching as Mickey slowly stroked his dripping cock.

As he jerked himself off, he feel Ian twitching against the final resistance before orgasm, "Cum for  
me," He ordered, unable to keep the authoritative tone at bay. As if on command, Ian's hips  
stuttered as he groaned and shot his load deep inside of him. Mickey continued to bounce on his  
sloppy cock as he tugged his dick harder, "Ready?"

"Give it to me." The cum rained on his chest while Mickey attempted to catch his breath. As his  
heart rate slowed, he lowered his body down and tangled himself up with Ian.

"Mo fhear álainn," Ian whispered, pressing his lips against Mickey's sweetly. The brunet grinned  
against his skin. Sated and sticky, they drifted to sleep.

Waking up with the sun, Mickey feared that the hours before had been a dream, but the heavy  
limbs wrapped around him assured him otherwise. He kissed Ian's forehead gently and pulled  
himself out of bed. He got himself dressed, wanting to give the redhead as much time as possible  
to rest before he had to wake him. It was Sunday, which meant that Cardinal Woolsmith would be  
expecting him at morning mass. As much as he wanted to skip it, he knew that he couldn't, "Hey,"  
he whispered, shaking Ian's shoulder gently, "Rise and shine, Sleepyhead." Ian grinned at him,  
eyes still closed and turned over on his back so he groan through an over exaggerated stretch.

"I gotta go," Mickey said, tossing him his chemise, "Sundays mean I gotta go to Church. Know  
that ain't something you do but I got to."

Ian nodded, sat up and pulled on his shirt, "Feel ok?" He asked his voice raspy with sleep.

Mickey laughed and ruffled his red hair, "Don't fucking flatter yourself, Gallagher." He didn't  
want to admit that his ass was aching like a motherfucker.

Ian just gave him a knowing grin and tied up his pants, "When will I see you again?"

"As soon as I can," Mickey assured him, knocking gently on his chamber door so Henry would  
pull it open.

Ian heard a quiet, "Your Grace" and then Mickey informing the Chamberlain that Ian was ready  
to leave. He left the door open slightly but ducked out of sight enough to kiss Ian passionately,

"Soon."

Ian nodded his understanding and pressed his lips against the King's one last time before exiting  
the room. He found only Henry standing guard, just as it had been hours before.

"I trust you pleased the King?" The older man asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Taken  
aback, Ian just nodded and received a small smile in return, "Good. Be ready for when he calls on  
you again. He does not like to be kept waiting."

He grimaced, forcing himself to hold back his tears. With every step he took back towards his  
chambers, memories of the night before turned and tarnished. By the time he laid back on his own  
uncomfortable bed he was convinced that his position was now to serve the King as his whore.

Chapter Fourteen:

Mickey was pulling on his black leather jerkin in preparation for dinner when he heard a knock on  
his chamber door. He'd already had a long, aggravating day and he wasn't keen on seeing anyone,  
save a certain redhead. The night before had been fucking perfect. Prior to sleeping with Ian, he'd  
thought it was likely he'd be good in bed based on his strong body and passionate kisses. Even in  
his wildest fantasies, he couldn't have imagined that he'd be as phenomenal as he was. Nobody  
had ever turned him out the way Ian had. He gave it to him good and hard, and he fucking loved  
it. Throughout the day he'd found himself getting lost in thoughts of him; not only of the sex, but  
also the way he looked at him, touched him, kissed him. He'd never fallen for anyone before.  
Every other man he'd been with had served a purpose, while Ian felt like he was the purpose.

"Your Grace," Henry said, peeking into the room, "I have Cardinal Woolsmith to see you."

Mickey nodded and walked to the door in anticipation of helping the elderly man to the chair.

When he attempted to bow, Mickey tsked, "C'mon, you gotta quit it with that."

"Tradition is tradition for a reason," The Cardinal reminded him, letting out a sigh as he rested his  
creaky bones in the overstuffed seat.

Once he was settled, Mickey sat on the foot of the bed and looked at him with concern in his eyes,  
"Twice in once day, Cardinal. What'd I do this time?"

"Can't I pay my favorite King a visit?" The older man asked with a crooked smile.

Mickey lifted his eyebrows, quite aware that the Cardinal's visits were not without a lesson or  
directive of some sort.

"I couldn't speak to you about this amongst the mixed company following Mass," He began,  
tapping frail fingers against his knee, "but it's important that you hear it from me before the council  
meeting tomorrow."

"Fuck," Mickey muttered, earning him a look of the disapproval from the clergyman, "They're not  
gonna let this shit go are they?"

"Your language remains atrocious," The Cardinal stated, "If I didn't know you were raised in the  
castle, I would assume you were raised in a barn."

"You did a lot of my raising," Mickey reminded him with a shit eating grin.

"I will take credit for many of your attributes, but your mouth isn't one of them, Mikhailo."

"Fair enough," The King relented, "So?"

"They're dissatisfied with your reasoning for not having Princess Isabella visit."

"Since when is 'I don't fucking want her to' not good enough? Did I wake up this morning as a  
peasant? Last I checked I'm still the King."

"You're still the King," Woolsmith agreed, with a nod, "and one of your duties of King is to  
produce an heir. Another is to forge alliances with countries we seek to bind ourselves to. Meeting  
with the Princess would be a good start at both."

"I said I'd think about it," Mickey reminded him, beginning to gnaw on his nail beds.

"They're growing impatient with your need for so much thought," He stated with a frown, "You  
do not need to take her as a wife, but at least have her come visit. Make them believe that you are  
at least considering it, that you are open to marrying and producing an heir. You are open to doing  
so, aren't you?"

It took him longer than both of them would have liked to respond with an unconvincing nod.

"We all have committed sins," The Cardinal began, "We spend our lives attempting to repent for  
them so that we can bask in His love in Heaven. It is there that we won't have to worry about  
pleasing others, because we ourselves will be pleased. You are not in Heaven yet, Mikhailo. You  
do not get to pretend you are. We all have our walks in this life and you need to put your shoes on  
and start moving forward on yours. Take one step. Invite her to visit."

Mickey sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Anything else?"

"They would also like you to put more serious thought into Mandy's prospects. There are several  
Princes and a few Kings interested in her hand, all of which would be good for our position. It is  
bad enough that there's a hold up with you taking a wife, but they cannot fathom why you would  
be so tentative in making arrangements for your sister."

"I'll talk to her," Mickey stated.

"You reminded me just a few moments ago that you are the King, correct? I beseech you to act  
like it, my son," He said, sadness evident on his wrinkled face, "I say this for your own good,  
which is the only thing I've considered for years."

"I know," The King conceded, pinching the bridge of his nose. Mickey was aware that everything  
the Cardinal was saying was meant to help him, but it didn't make it any easier to hear, especially  
coming from him.

As the old man attempted to rise from the chair, Mickey jumped up quickly to assist him. He was  
holding onto his elbow when the Cardinal rested his cold, shaking hand on Mickey's cheek, "That  
which brings you pleasure does not have the capacity to bring you children," he said softly.  
Mickey stood dumbfounded by the statement, unable to so much as blink. He couldn't  
comprehend the Cardinal knowing his preferences. He's always been painstakingly discreet.  
Noticing his astonishment the clergyman cleared his throat and said, "I may be old, but I am not  
blind. Lucky for you, so many others have been. Keep them that way. Invite the Princess."  
Mickey walked him to the door and knocked on it so Henry would open it and help the Cardinal  
on his way.

"Will you consider my pleas?" He asked, looking into the King's pale blue eyes as Henry took his  
arm.

Mickey nodded and watched as the older man disappeared down the hall.

His mind was spinning at the information that the Cardinal had so easily hinted at. In the past  
anything of the sort would have Mickey taking a vow of celibacy and swearing off his proclivities  
all together. Now, with Ian, all he wanted to do was find the other man and sink into skin.

By the time he arrived in the Great Hall it was bustling with activity. His fool was doing some of  
his best magic tricks. Mickey had the mind to tell him to work on one that made the rest of the  
Court disappear so he could be alone in his own private world with Ian, but he was sure the idiot  
didn't have that level of skill.

He watched as the revelers bowed to him, scanning the room for a familiar shock of red hair. He  
caught sight of him once they had all already risen. He looked moody; his face more dark and  
foreboding than it typical was. If Mickey didn't know better, he would've thought that Ian was  
avoiding his gaze. Usually, he'd catch the other man sneaking continuous peeks at him, but tonight  
he seemed completely uninterested. It was a mindfuck for Mickey, as he was still flying high off  
the emotions and connection they'd shared during their night together.

"You gotta stop staring at him," Thomas chided from his spot beside Mickey's throne.

"He hasn't even looked over here," Mickey stated, watching as a few of the prettier ladies of the  
Court flirted with his lover. Ian's face lightened significantly as he chatted with them. He could  
feel the heat of his anger warming his skin as he saw a pink tint creep across Ian's in response to  
something the girls had said.

"Maybe he's being discreet," Thomas offered, "You should take some fucking notes."  
Mickey gave him the finger and let out a sharp exhale, "Bring him over here."

"Do you really think that's a good..." Thomas began, but he was cut off Mickey's impatient huff  
of:  
"Did I slur my fucking words?"

Thomas sighed and walked over to where Ian was standing with a growing gaggle of interested  
women.

"Sir Gallagher, The King requests your presence," He said flatly, earning him a narrowed eye  
glare from Ian.

"If it is a request I can deny it, right? It's not a demand."

The girls giggled excitedly at his defiance, while Thomas gave him significantly less unimpressed  
look, "I'd advise against denying his request Sir Gallagher as he is a powerful King and you do  
not hold a similar level of power."

The posturing caused the girls to hush as Ian walked with Thomas, tail between his legs.

"What the fuck was that?" Thomas hissed when they were out of earshot. He could feel Mickey's  
eyes on him as he tried to wrangle his unwieldy lover.

Ian shrugged, "Just don't understand why he'd want me bowing in front of him in public."

"Well..." Thomas sighed, "I don't fucking get it either but that doesn't mean that you can take  
matters into your own hands."

"Are my hands not capable?"

"I'm sure they are. However your use of them on my best friend has gotten him pretty fucked up  
on you," Thomas whispered.

Unsure of how to respond, Ian remained silent until he bowed low in front of the King, "Your  
Grace," Ian greeted respectfully.

Mickey bit his lip, waiting for Ian's eyes to meet his, feeling an overwhelming wave of nausea  
when the redhead consciously avoided them. "Look at me," he directed, his stomach turning when  
he saw the fire in Ian's eyes when he complied. The redhead's lips were pursed, causing his chin  
to protrude in aggravation. Once Ian was standing before him, Mickey found himself at a loss for  
words, everything he wanted to say was inappropriate for utterance in the Hall. They stared at  
each other for a moment, the tension palpable between them.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace," Ian prompted, not wanting to give Mickey the satisfaction  
of standing before him for any longer.

"Always," Mickey replied quietly, confused by Ian's behavior, "Always want to see you."

The redhead's face softened momentarily before quickly growing hard again, memories of his  
position spurring him to have a renewed sense of anger. He felt led on by the King's sweet words.  
He wondered if he made all of his whores feel so special.

"You don't got anything to say?" Mickey asked, looking at Ian, desperately trying to understand  
his demeanor.

"I'm unsure of what you'd like to hear from me, Your Grace," Ian replied, his tone immensely  
formal.

"Anything really," The King admitted, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes for a  
moment, in an attempt to abate his stress, "Something in Gaelic, 'cause English doesn't seem to be  
working for you right now."

Ian swallowed hard, calling upon all of the courage he could muster, "Scriú tú."

Mickey looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to translate as he typically did. When he didn't  
he pushed, "What's that mean?"

Ian stood there tight lipped, his face turning bright red as he did. As soon as the words had  
escaped his mouth, he regretted them. He thought about lying in his translation or simply refusing  
to tell him what it meant. His mind scrambled for a way to pull the phrase back in.

"He said 'fuck you' Mick," Thomas whispered, able to hear his friend's heart stop as soon as he  
relayed his lover's message.

Mickey cleared his throat and nodded his head, the hurt evident in his eyes, "Should have your  
head for that, Gallagher."

"Whatever pleases you, Your Grace," Ian responded, his voice wavering with fear, while he  
attempted to appear as though his backbone was held up by steel.

"Get outta my fucking face," Mickey practically growled, feeling Thomas's hand rest heavy on his  
shoulder in warning, "That's what would please me."

Ian bowed low before him before turning on his heels and storming out of the hall.

"You can't..." Thomas began but he was interrupted by Mickey jumping out of his throne.

The room hushed as the members of the Court respectfully lowered their heads.

"Sick of everyone telling me what the fuck I gotta do," Mickey whispered harshly, following Ian's  
path.

Chapter Fifteen::

As Ian ran down the hallway towards his chambers, his life flashed before his eyes. Through  
pools of tears, he looked at the sea from the edge of his cliffs on a foggy day. His lungs were tight  
as he attempted to draw in the dense air and his skin was damp from the precipitation. The image,  
which had brought him solace in his most trying times, now increased his panic. He felt as though  
he was tumbling over the edge, a sinking feeling plunging into his stomach as he fell. Suspended  
in the air, his body was both heavy and weightless. Fingers numb with fear were unable to grasp  
onto jagged rocks to pull himself up. Somehow his wobbly legs carried him across the empty  
courtyard. Just as he was about to turn the door handle to enter his chambers, his body crashed  
against the surface.

"The fuck's your problem?" The King demanded, tattooed fingers digging viscously into the bone  
of Ian's jaw as he held him against the stone wall. Angry blue eyes bored into leaking greens as  
they both panted from the exertion and emotion.

"I shouldn't have..." He let his eyelids drop in shame, unnerved by the gravity of his mistake, the  
magnitude of his disrespect. "I'm sorry."

"I'm the fucking King of Wales. You ain't gonna talk to me like I'm some goddamn bitch,"  
Mickey growled, sure the grasp of his hand was leaving marks on his lover's fair skin, "You're a  
sadistic fuck, you know that?"

Ian grimaced from both the emotional and physical pain and nodded his head the best he could.  
"Make me give a shit about you and then spit in my fucking face." He let go of his hold on Ian  
and rubbed his palm against his own forehead, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to temper his  
upset.

"Give a shit about me?" Ian mumbled wryly with a huff, massaging his sore jaw.

Mickey creased his eyebrows incredulously, "Your ears work don't they, Gallagher? Been hearing  
me talk about my fucking feelings for you, right?"

"Figured you said that stuff to all your whores," He replied, his voice rife with hurt.

"You think that's what you are to me?!" Mickey cried, glancing over his shoulder glad that  
nobody was around to witness his outburst. Ian nodded his head solemnly, furiously wiping away  
the tears that were streaming down his face, "Open the fucking door."

Ian did as he was told and was shocked when Mickey's lips pressed passionately against his. He  
fell into the kiss, overwhelmed by the adoration behind the declarations that were being made by  
tongues and lips.

"How?" He questioned into Ian's mouth, too consumed with the impulse to soothe him to  
remember the anger of moments before. He continued to kiss him vehemently, the salt of his  
lover's sadness washing away any acidic statements that were left on his tongue, "How could you  
think that?"

"Henry," Ian began, sighing and sinking his fingers into black locks as Mickey dipped his head  
down to lay soft kisses against his jawline, "Henry made me think that."

Mickey's face shot up in confusion, his hands still rested on the Ian's hips, "Henry?"

"When I was leaving after we..." He bit his pouting lip, "made love, he said 'I trust you pleased  
the King?' and told me to be ready for when you call on me again, because you don't like to be  
kept waiting."

"What the fuck?" Mickey sighed, picking up one of his hands so he could drag his thumb and  
index fingers across his eyebrows in aggravation, "I'll fucking kill him." He shook his head as if  
trying to convince himself not to actually give the order for the old man's execution, "Gonna take  
care of him, but you..." He punched out a annoyed exhale, "you could've fucking talked to me  
instead of having a bitch fit. You ain't a mute anymore. I know you know how to use that mouth."  
Ian nodded, the flush of embarrassment evident on his sad face.

"Look at me," The King ordered, tucking both of his thumbs behind Ian's ears and resting his  
hands on his cheeks, "In private, I'm yours. You got me crawling, fucking crazy for you." His  
blue eyes reflected the earnestness of his statement, making Ian's heart flutter wildly in response,

"Say whatever you fucking want behind closed doors and I'll deal with your shit. All of it. But in  
public..." He paused for affect and clicked his tongue, "just like the rest of the fucking country,  
you're mine. You bow your head to me and the only shit that comes outta your mouth is the shit  
you'd say in church... if you ever fucking went."

"I'm sorry," He promised, his mortification causing his voice to crack.

"If anybody other than Thomas would've heard you, I would've had to make an example outta  
you for your disrespect. I'm talking drawn and fucking quartered in the middle of the room, Ian. I  
wouldn't have had a choice."

"I understand," He assured the King softy, unable to meet to his gaze, "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry.  
It's just... Ba mhaith liom a bheith ar do gach rud." Mickey laid a tender kiss on Ian's lips and the  
redhead raised his head so he could look at him. "I want to be everything to you," He admitted,  
bringing a sad smile to Mickey's face.

"Shit with me... with us, is gonna be complicated. There's no way it won't, but I'm gonna do my  
fucking best, alright? I just need you to be patient with me."

Ian nodded, looping his arms around Mickey's waist, "Remember those flaws we were talking  
about?" He leaned down and started to lick and suck on the spot below his ear.

"Yes," The brunet sighed, moving his hand under Ian's shirt, needing to feel more of him.  
"I'm impatient and kinda reactive," Ian confessed, his voice muffled by the curve of Mickey's  
neck.

"No shit, really?" The brunet asked with mock surprise, drawing a grin out of the man who  
working on kissing every inch of his exposed skin.

"Lip says I can be a brat sometimes, too," He admitted, sliding his hand below the waistband of  
Mickey's pants. As he continued to work his neck, he cupped the King's erection, loving how  
heavy he felt in his hand.

"Does he?" Mickey breathed, closing his eyes and licking his lips, as Ian began to stroke him as  
best he could under the constricting fabric.

"Mmmhmm," He hummed, peeling his lips off of Mickey so he could look into his lust blown  
eyes, "Guess that's another one of my flaws, I can be a brat," He paused, "and I have a bad  
temper."

"And you were worried about my temper...the flaws just keep coming, huh?" He taunted, letting  
out a needy gasp as Ian's hand dipped under his balls so he could wedge his fingers between  
Mickey's ass cheeks, pushing just inside his crack.

"Make up for them in other ways," Ian assured him hotly, loving the way the King's mouth fell  
open in a perfect 'O' as he wiggled his fingers a bit, teasing him, "Like that?"

"Know you're a shitty Catholic, Gallagher, but you should know you're supposed to atone on  
your knees," Mickey stated with his voice low and his eyebrows high.

Ian grinned, giving him a tongue-filled kiss before dropping to his knees and immediately getting  
to work untying his pants, "Ba mhaith liom a bheith foirfe do tú," He said looking up into  
Mickey's eyes adoringly. He licked his lips, "I want to be perfect for you."

In response, Mickey rested his hand on Ian's cheek for a moment and then told him to "Open up."  
He pressed the slit of his dick against the tip of the eager man's tongue. "Gonna give you a little  
taste, you like that?"

"Mmm, more," Ian demanded opening wider.

"That nasty fucking mouth said 'fuck you' to me. Think it deserves to have this dick?" Mickey  
questioned, slapping the weight of his cock against Ian's waiting tongue. He could hear the  
redhead moan with anticipation, a small amount of saliva dripping out of his mouth. Mickey  
laughed low and sultry, "You're drooling for it."

"Want it," Ian muttered, "Give it to me."

"So impatient," Mickey tsked, tracing Ian's lips with his cock and leaving a sticky trail behind.

"Please," Ian whined trying to catch the teasing tip with his outstretched tongue, "Need it."

"What do you need?" Mickey asked, guiding the head of his dick to the tip of Ian's tongue again.

He pressed against it with a good bit of pressure before lifting up and stretching precum from Ian's  
tongue to his cock. Ian curled his tongue so he could try to catch it all.

"You."

"That sounds good," Mickey crooned, pumping his dick a few times as he looked at Ian's hot, wet  
mouth, "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Fuck my face," Ian said softly, grabbing onto the fleshy mounds of Mickey's ass, readying  
himself, "Said 'fuck you' now I want you to fuck me."

"You'd like that?" Mickey asked, his blue eyes burning with desire, "Get on the bed." The  
redhead did as he was told and the King hovered over him, knees resting just above his shoulders,  
"Think you can take what I'm gonna give to you?"

"Know I can," He assured him, sticking out his tongue again.

"Not gonna stop until I shoot my load down your throat, Ian. Gonna be relentless. You ready to  
take it all?"

Ian nodded eagerly, "Fucking do it."

Mickey lined his cock up to Ian's mouth and pushed in, inch by inch the way he would if he was  
breaching his ass. He threw his head back and moaned at the feeling of warmth that was  
surrounding him. He started to roll his hips at a slow pace as Ian hollowed out his cheeks intent on  
taking all of him.

The King's cock was weighty and delicious on his tongue. He started to move quicker, push in  
deeper, letting the tip of his dick hit the back of Ian's throat. The redhead was focusing on  
Mickey's taste, willing himself not to gag from the force.

Just as he said he would, Mickey started to drive in more brutally and Ian felt moisture gather in  
his eyes as he tried to keep himself together.

"You ok?" Mickey asked breathless, continuing his pounding. His fingers were pulling Ian's hair,  
guiding his head back and forth on him.

"Mmmmm," Ian moaned around his cock, rubbing his hand on Mickey's ass to assure him.

"Good," The brunet groaned, "That fucking mouth. Such a perfect mouth. Holy shit."

The compliment spurred Ian to pull him impossibly deeper, as the King continued to fuck his face,  
feeling his balls slap rhythmically against Ian's chin.

"Ready for it? I'm gonna fill you the fuck up," Mickey panted, feeling his hips stutter as a familiar  
fire spread through his groin. With a final tilt of his pelvis, and hands pushing Ian's head forward  
onto him, Mickey keened, emptying himself down his lover's throat. He fell onto the bed beside  
Ian as they both tried to catch their breath.

"Wanna spend the whole night making it up to you," Ian said, looking at him with red lips and  
wet chin.

"I'll work it out and send for you as soon as I can," Mickey assured him, leaning over so he could  
give Ian a sloppy kiss, "Need you in my bed.

Ian nodded, adjusting the raging hard on that was straining against his pants.

"Don't you fucking touch that until you're with me, Mr. Impatient," Mickey warned, climbing off  
the bed with a smirk on his face.

"Gonna get blue balls before then," Ian groused with a pout.

"I gotta admit, it's pretty fucking cute that you don't think you deserve that shit," Mickey jabbed  
playfully, "See you soon. Got plans for you."

The redhead grinned as he watched the King exit his chambers, thinking that the only positive  
thing about having a big fucking mouth that tended to get him in trouble was that he got to wrap it  
around that man's cock.

Chapter Sixteen:  
Svetlana was on a mission to speak to the King and she was going to stop at nothing to make sure  
she reached her goal. Sweet talking her way past the guards who were stationed at the entrance of  
the King's hallway was easy, though she was confused by their positioning. She was used to the  
men standing directly in front of his chambers, so she found it odd that they were so far away.  
When she reached the King's door she was surprised to find only an exhausted looking Henry  
guarding the entry.

"How'd you get back here?" He asked firmly, standing upright from his previous position leaning  
against the door. He smoothed out his pants attempting to project and air of professionalism, even  
among the circumstances.

"They know that I am not a woman to mess with. Unlike many others, they recognize the extent  
of my power," She informed him, tucking her dark tresses behind her ear. She raised one of her  
eyebrows as if she dared him to contend her statement.

Not having the energy to engage with the intelligent whore, Henry just nodded his understanding  
and decided that he would have a lengthy chat with the guards as soon as he could abandon his  
post, "What can I help you with?"

She could hear panting behind the door and the King's voice demanding that his lover 'pound it.'

The sound of skin slapping followed and then a long, reverberating moan from Mickey's mouth.

She smirked, "I'm here to speak with the King about an urgent matter."

"He's... indisposed," Henry stated, tightening his lips as a chorus of 'just like that,' 'hit it' and 'fuck'  
filled the air.

"I hear that," Svetlana replied simply, "It seems as though they are approaching their climax, yes?  
I will wait."

"They have sounded like this for the past hour and a half," He said contrarily, "I will tell him in  
the morning that you came to speak to him about your 'urgent' matter."

Svetlana shook her head, "No, it cannot wait. He must be interrupted."

"Did I miss your promotion to the privy council?" The old man inquired sarcastically.

"Perhaps. I believe I was asked to join on the same day that you were," She shot back with a  
cloyingly pleasant smile.

Harry glared at her unamused.

"Call for him," She prompted, gesturing towards the door.

He shook his head vehemently, "I find that I've already made my way to his bad side today. I will  
not cement my place there."

"What did you do?" Svetlana questioned with wide eyes, her interest piqued.

"It is not a matter that needs to be discussed with you," He replied coolly.

"Because I have breasts or due to my occupation?" She pressed.

Henry sighed, "I made the mistake of treating his new whore like he is a whore."

"You really should treat whores better. I know this from both this conversation and exchanges in  
the past," She grinned, "He likes this one, so that was very stupid."

The old man's face turned even more glum that it had been moments earlier, which was quite a  
feat based on how miserable he'd seemed, "I thought he'd tire of him like he did all the others. I  
hoped the boy would keep his head but now I pray the King will keep his and I will keep mine..."

"You feel too sorry for yourself," She scoffed, "He either kills you or he doesn't. You are still  
alive, so he doesn't. You understand?" She banged on the door, causing all of the color to drain  
from Henry's face. When there was no response, she knocked again. Henry closed his eyes and  
began to silently pray, while wiping sweat off his brow.

"Kinda busy," Mickey called and then in a voice that wasn't meant to be heard by anyone but Ian,  
he moaned, "Mmm, don't stop. Keep doing that."

Without further warning, she pushed open the door to find the King on his hands and knees,  
getting plowed by the redheaded Catholic. The sight of her had Ian immediately scrambling off  
the bed, grabbing a pillow to hold in front of his crotch, while Mickey pulled the comforter around  
his waist.

"What the fuck!" The King cried, his face bright red from the anger, embarrassment, and exertion.

"I have to talk to you tonight and I did not know how long," She waved her hand between the  
two of them, "this... would be going on."

The King's blue eyes bore into the meek man who was trailing behind her looking like he was on  
his way to the gallows, "I tried to stop her," He apologized, bowing quickly and wishing that he  
could sink into the planks of the wood floor below him.

"You know how fucked you are?" Mickey asked, nudging his nostril with the pad of his finger  
and rolling his lips in tight.

Henry nodded solemnly and tried to keep from looking at Ian who was hurriedly pulling on his  
clothes.

"More fucked than me," The King informed him, "and I'm thoroughly fucked."

The old man nodded again, wondering if it was the last time he'd have his head attached to his  
neck.

"Make sure Ian gets outta here without a fucking issue," Mickey demanded, "Wait for him in the  
hall."

Henry scurried out, closing the door behind him leaving Svetlana standing in front of the two men,

"You are not a virgin," She tsked, grinning at Ian and shaking her head in faux disappointment.  
Ian was blushing wildly and couldn't find a word to utter in return.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Mickey snapped, putting on his robe, "Ain't happy with you either."

She shrugged completely nonplussed by his statement, "You do not need to be happy with me,  
you just need to listen to what I need to tell you."

Mickey sighed, climbed off the bed and walked over to where Ian was standing, "Sorry."

"It's alright," Ian said softly, "Just wish I was gonna be sleeping in bed with you tonight." His  
green eyes were focused on full lips.

"You just like my bed," Mickey teased, tickling his fingers against Ian's wrist.

The redhead gave him a small smile and sighed when the King lifted his hand to pat his freckled  
cheek. As he turned to leave, he purposefully avoided any eye contact with the prostitute, who  
was still standing in the same spot, entirely unfazed by the scene that had unfolded in front of her.

"This better be really fucking good," The King warned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"It is actually really fucking bad," Svetlana stated, sitting down on the chair and signaling for  
Mickey to take a seat on the bed. He refused, choosing instead to stand in defiance, "I spent time  
with your uncle tonight."

"So...?"

"So, while I was giving him pleasure, he became very loose lipped."

"In what way?" The King questioned, deciding to take a seat after all.

"He was talking about how important the love of a woman is. You know, a very ironic subject for  
him to speak about when he turns to me instead of his wife, but I digress. He mentioned that he  
doesn't believe you realize this, how important the love of a woman is."

"He said that?" Mickey asked, his stomach sinking at the words.

She nodded, "So I pushed him further. Asked him why he thought this."

"And what'd he say?"

"That you will not invite Princess Isabella of Spain for a visit. He went on and on about she is  
supposed to be a rare beauty and though your privy council pushes you to do so, you refuse. He  
kept repeating, 'what type of man does not want to meet a beautiful woman.' He said this over and  
over again."

"Fuck," Mickey sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

"So I told him that I think you have fallen for me," She informed him, straightening out her corset.

"You did what?" He asked, blinking in disbelief.

Svetlana grinned at him, "I told him that you order me to your chambers every night and lavish me  
with expensive gifts. Better they believe that you have fallen for a woman of a low social standing  
than a man of any, correct?"

Mickey wriggled up his nose uncomfortable and sniffed, "I gotta get her out here don't I?"

"You already know the answer to this question," She said, "And I would advise that you make it  
happen sooner rather than later so you can stop this line of thought before it draws too close to the  
truth."

Mickey nodded his agreement.

"So, will you let me live, even though I barged in on you and your lover unannounced? Have you  
found the information worthy of the interruption?"

With sincerity in his eyes, "thank you" was all Mickey could muster to say in response.

"And what of Henry? You have that old fuck shaking with fear."

"Sometimes that's better than actually doing something, right? The anticipation can be more  
fucking brutal," Mickey stated with a click of his tongue.

Svetlana just smiled. "So since I have proven to be a great asset to you, are you going to grace me  
with details of your encounters with your heretic, Your Grace?"

Mickey laughed and shook his head, "Fuck off."

"I would tell you the same, but I think you have given all of your fuck away," She teased, "Get  
out the cannabis pipe, let's get so high that we forget that Spain is even a country."

"Don't sound like a bad idea at all," The King conceded.

"Should we invite Henry in for a smoke? I think he needs it more than either of us," Svetlana  
joked, watching as Mickey packed the pipe that had been lying on his dresser.

"Don't want to interfere with his misery," Mickey said with a smirk.

"You're bad," She grinned.

"You're worse."

"Maybe so," She shrugged, "But I am okay with that."  
*

The walk back to his quarters was eerily quiet with most of the castle's occupants long since  
asleep. Every time Ian tried to take his mind off of the interruption, he would picture the big,  
wooden door swinging open while he was deep inside of the King. His heart pounded as he felt  
the fear and danger once again. Though he was not glad to have been exposed in that way, he was  
relieved that it was the whore and not somebody who sought to harm them.  
Just as he was about to open the door to his room, he caught sight of his father ambling across the  
courtyard, "What are you doing out this late?" He called to his son.

"I could ask you the same thing," Ian shot back, watching his father skeptically as he approached.

"I'll assume whatever you were up to was both ethical and legal," Francis said with a wink, "and  
you do the same for me."

Ian scoffed, too physically and emotionally exhausted to try to figure out what the fuck his  
dumbass father was talking about. He made his way into his room and laid back on the bed,  
wishing he was wrapped up in Mickey rather than a scratchy sheet.

Chapter Seventeen:

“Henry looks like shit,” Thomas stated as he entered the King’s chambers. He studied his best  
friend, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his hands, “and evidently  
you don’t look much better. Does this have something to do with the fact that ambassador De La  
Torre was invited to join the Privy Council meeting this morning?”

Mickey nodded and lifted his head to reveal bloodshot eyes and skin that was tinged an ashen hue.

“You been crying?” Thomas asked, his worry apparent.

The King shook his head, “Smoked a shit ton of cannabis with Svet last night.”

“You weren’t with Ian?” He questioned, wondering if the redhead did something that got his ass  
thrown in the Tower. He almost hoped the mouthy fucker had. Thomas had spent a great majority  
of his life making sure that the King kept himself out of trouble. So as far as he was concerned,  
Mickey inviting it into his bed was less than ideal. At first he liked the Irishman. He had seemed to  
be respectful and quiet, two of the greatest virtues needed to lay in bed with the King. Ian’s  
actions the other night had changed his impression. The man had a fire inside of him; Thomas saw  
it burning in his eyes. Mickey needed his own flames tempered, not oxidized by an impetuous  
lover. He feared that the heat between them would cause them both to combust.

“I was, but she interrupted with some fucked up information,” Mickey stated, standing up so he  
could pull on his black leather jerkin. He had enough bullshit to deal with that morning; he didn’t  
need snide remarks about his clothing choices to add to the tumult, “I guess while she was  
banging Charles he started talking about me.”

“That old prick would,” Thomas scoffed, rolling his eyes. He hated Charles almost as much as he  
despised the man’s son. He often found himself wondering how Mickey and Mandy shared the  
same blood with them, then he remembered the despicable King Theodore and it made much  
more sense. He was convinced that Cardinal Woolsmith had made all the difference.

“Guess he was hinting around about shit not being right with me cause I’ve been refusing to bring  
this Spanish bitch around.”

“Fuck,” He sighed, shaking his head, “So she’s coming then?”

“She’s coming,” Mickey confirmed.

“Good,” His friend said with a click of his tongue, “This is the right thing to do, Mick, and you  
know it. It wouldn’t be a bad fucking idea if you decided to wife her up, too.”

“Don’t even fucking start with that,” The King chided, shooting Thomas a look of warning, “One  
thing at a goddamn time, alright?” He rubbed his forehead and groaned, “What am I gonna tell  
Ian?”

“To know his place?” He suggested, earning him the middle finger from Mickey.

“Took care of that.”

“Oh yeah? You guys scrap?” Thomas questioned with a smirk, moving closer to his friend so he  
could use his fingertip to connect the smattering of hickeys on Mickey’s neck, “That what all these  
marks are from?”

The King shoved him away with a light laugh, “Fuck off.” He started heading towards the door so  
they could make their way to down to the council room, but Thomas grabbed his elbow to stop  
him.

“Seriously, though,” He said, brown eyes adjuring Mickey though his tone was not, “You tell  
your lover that you’re the King. That this is the kinda shit you gotta do, that this is what it’s like to  
be with a monarch.”

Mickey shook him off and nodded, “And what if he doesn’t want to be with me then?” He asked  
quietly, admonishing himself for the weakness he could hear in his voice.

Thomas licked his lips and shrugged, “Then you both’ll have a better chance at living, right?”  
The King just glared at him out of the side of his eyes, knowing that there wasn’t much to dispute.  
*  
The meeting had left everyone but the King feeling quite pleased. After it was over, Mickey  
walked out to the gardens knowing that Henry had told his lover to wait for him there. When he  
spotted Ian sitting on an ivy covered ledge next to his brother, the monarch gestured for him to  
follow him into the woods.

With every step he took an increased amount of anticipation buzzed through Ian’s body. It hadn’t  
even been a day since he last saw him, but every ounce of his being missed the King immensely.  
As soon as he crossed the tree line, safe within the shade, he cradled his hand around the nape of  
Mickey’s neck and pulled him to his lips to kiss him sensually. Their tongues moved slowly, as if  
their time together was infinite and there was nothing more important than that one perpetual  
moment.

Once they finally peeled their lips apart, Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s and whispered,  
“Chaill mé tú.”

“I missed you, too,” The King responded, having learned the phrase through Ian’s frequent  
utterings of it. He kissed the tip of his nose and pulled away, “We gotta talk. C’mon, let’s go to the  
pond.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Ian admitted as they headed towards the secluded spot. He could  
feel the familiar sensation of worry tightening his chest. He’d suffered with anxiety for the  
majority of his life. There wasn’t a time he could remember where his mind hadn’t tortured him  
into believing that the worst case in every scenario was the most likely outcome. Though there  
wasn’t much that made him feel better, he had been able to find the occasional solace through  
cannabis, sex or runs to the cliffs, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“We together?” Mickey questioned, raising his eyebrows, licking his lips and letting his eyes  
consume Ian as if he was the most delicious sweetmeat he’d ever tasted.

“I don’t.. I mean, I thought…” Ian stumbled over his words, unable to wrap his tongue around  
what he wanted to say, “Are we?” He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced, cursing himself for  
being so goddamn awkward.

“Of course we are.” He smirked and grabbed Ian’s hand so he could bring it up to his lips and kiss  
two of his fingertips.

The redhead let out a sputtering sigh of relief and smiled as tattooed fingers intertwined with his.  
Weeks ago, he would have been surprised that the King was evidently into hand holding, but not  
much shocked him anymore. All the recent events in his life had him feeling as though fantasy and  
reality no longer laid so far apart.

Mickey guided him to the pond, where they sat on the banks in the dense moss, hands still  
connected. "Looks like it's gonna rain, huh?" He mused, glancing up at the slivers of slate grey  
sky that were peeking through the thick foliage.

"Don't wanna talk about the weather," Ian said softly, moving in closer to Mickey and humming  
when the King looped his arms around his waist and rested his lips on the shoulder of his doublet.

"Tell me."

The brunet lifted his head so he could look into concerned green eyes. "Svetlana was fucking my  
uncle last night and he started talking about how strange it is that I don't wanna have this Spanish  
Princess visit. Guess he was saying shit like what kinda man doesn't wanna be around a beautiful  
woman."

"Fuck," Ian muttered, cringing at the implications, "Do you think he suspects that you're..."

"With you? No." He shook his head for emphasis.

"Not with me, but you know, into what you're into."

"You," The King stated matter-of factly, "I'm into you." Women had never turned Mickey on.  
He'd had sex with a few in hopes that it would help him feel something for them, but it never had.  
With men, the attraction was always there. He loved to be fucked, but his relationships had been  
functional, similar to the one he had with his wooden dildo. From the start, Ian was different. He  
wanted him in a way that was much deeper than physical. Never before had he experienced the  
emotions the redhead had awakened within him. When Ian spoke, he hung on to every word. He  
found himself wanting to understand his thoughts, listen to his opinions, and hear about his life,  
his memories. The hours they'd passed lost in conversation had felt as intimate as the time they  
spent having sex. Ian made him want everything and believe that he could have it, "That's it."  
The redhead held his tongue, deciding that it wasn't the a great idea to push him further, "So what  
are you going to do?"

"Don't really got a choice. Told the ambassador to make the arrangements," He said, noticing the  
look on his boyfriend's face was reflective of both heartbreak and compassion, "She'll be here in a  
few days."

Ian nodded, not sure of what to say. They sat quietly listening as sporadic gusts of wind rustled the  
leaves, warning of the storm rolling in. "Are you going to marry her?" He asked finally, terrified  
of the response he could receive.

"I'm not sure," Mickey replied honestly, watching Ian squeeze his eyes shut as if the words had  
physically hurt him.

"She'll be in your bed every night," He said, opening his eyes to reveal a pool of tears resting on  
his waterline, "... rud a chiallaíonn ní bheidh mé a bheith."

"Hmm?" Mickey rested his hand on Ian's cheek, attempting to ground him.

"Which means I won't be," He repeated, swallowing hard.

"We'd have separate chambers," Mickey promised, "If I do this, I ain't gonna share a bed with  
her."

"She'd still expect to sleep with you, though, wouldn't she?"

He shrugged, "My greatest responsibility is to produce a fucking heir, man." He paused, "I'd have  
to fuck her once a month, maybe twice, until I knocked her up."

Ian was biting his lower lip so hard that he thought he might have blood trickling down his chin,  
"Maybe it's stupid for me to believe that whatever this is between us could last but..." He exhaled  
deeply as Mickey slotted his mouth against his, robbing him of his breath while he attempted to  
abate his worry, "I want it to."

"I do, too," Mickey assured him, feeling a large droplet of rain fall on his forehead and then  
another, "It's gonna fucking pour." He stood up and reached his hands down to give Ian a tug to  
his feet, "Will you stay with me?" He asked, the weight of the question hanging so heavy between  
them that he felt compelled to add, "tonight?"

Ian nodded.

They walked slowly to the edge of the woods, aware that as soon as they took another step they  
would go back the secrecy and living worlds apart. The rain had built intensity and was coming  
down in sheets, soaking them to he bone. They wrapped themselves together and kissed as if they  
weren't getting completely drenched in the process. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Mo fhear álainn," Ian muttered, kissing Mickey's lips as raindrops streamed down their faces.

"Only yours," Mickey confirmed, blue eyes drenched with honesty.

Ian watched as his beautiful man walked into the storm, unprotected by the umbrella of trees, fully  
exposed. He wanted to be strong like Mickey was, but he found himself wondering if he'd have  
the capacity to weather the maelstrom.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Eighteen: 

Lip couldn’t help but smile as he tried to keep up with Ian, who was walking with more purpose  
than he usually did. His long legs were taking lengthy strides in hopes of reaching their destination  
more quickly. Since his conversation with the King a few days ago regarding the Princess’  
impending visit, Ian had been suffering through the stages of grief, spending most of his time  
vacillating between anger and depression. Though Lip had tried to help him reach acceptance, he  
just wasn’t there yet. The Princess was expected in less than 12 hours and Lip was pretty sure he  
was dreading her arrival almost as much as Ian was. He knew that keeping his brother from  
melting down, and subsequently acting out, was going to be difficult. While they weren't sure of  
what the following days were going to bring, they did know the plan for that night; they were  
going to get fucked up.

"He definitely coming?" Lip asked as they approached the clearing by the cliff they had partied at  
a few weeks before.

"Said he was," Ian replied, leaning against a tree and swallowing down some whiskey from his  
flask. Lip reached for it and shot some back with a grimace.

"So, you two gonna be making out an shit?" Lip questioned, breaking their companionable silence  
and earning a displeased look from his brother, "Not because I give a fuck," he said quickly,  
throwing his hands up in surrender, "more cause I gotta mentally prepare for the epic mindfuck it'll  
be to see the King of Wales tonguing down my brother."

"What does that even mean?" Ian laughed, shaking his head, "Tonguing me down?"

"You know, like..." He attempted to demonstrate, curling his tongue while rubbing down his chest  
for emphasis.

"Damn Phillip, you really gotta get laid," The King teased, keeping his eyes on the curly haired  
man for a moment before diverting his attention to his boyfriend, who was bowing before him. He  
tried to keep himself from following through on his overwhelming urge to slam Ian against the tree  
and kiss him, "Enough," he whispered, prompting the redhead to raise his head and catch his eyes.

Green burned into blue as they focused intently on each other, while Lip, Thomas and Mandy  
exchanged greetings.

When they all sat down in a small circle, Ian and Mickey made sure that they were next to each  
other, letting their knees knock occasionally, desperate for any sort of connection. Though the  
others were aware of what was going on between them, it felt uncouth to display their affection  
for one another in front of them.

"Pass it," Thomas ordered Ian, giving him a swift elbow to the ribs before holding his hand out for  
the pipe.

"Fuck," The redhead groused, shooting him a dirty look. Thomas had been a dick to him ever  
since his insubordination in the Great Hall, "What's your problem?"

"Don't trust you," The brunet replied quietly, taking a hit while purposely avoiding eye contact  
with him.

"You should," Ian said earnestly, noticing that Mandy had paused her conversation with Lip and  
was listening in on them with a curious look on her face.

"Prove it then," Thomas challenged, turning to meet his gaze.

Ian nodded, "I will." He felt Mickey's hand brush against the outside of his thigh, a fleeting sign of  
reassurance.

"So, are you?" Lip asked the Princess, intent on resuming their conversation.

Mandy gave him an apologetic grin, a silent admission that she hadn't been paying attention.

"Promised to anyone," He clarified, taking the pipe from her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"I'm not," She replied, glancing at her brother, who had pulled his attention away from Ian for  
long enough to await her answer, "I'm not ready for marriage yet."

Mickey laughed sardonically, "She will be soon."

"Fuck off," Mandy scoffed, giving him the finger for emphasis.

"If I gotta suffer you are too," The King stated simply, reaching for Ian's whiskey. He felt the  
weight of the redhead's gaze fixed on his lips as they wrapped around the flask. He licked them,  
cracking a small smile, while still facing his sister.

"Yeah, it looks like life's pretty fucking rough for you," Mandy shot back, gesturing to Ian, who  
dropped his head in an attempt to hide his blushing cheeks, "Plus you get to 'suffer' here, I have to  
be shipped off to some foreign land."

"England's like two feet away from us," Thomas interjected, wishing he hadn't when Mandy  
glared at him murderously.

"It's just a visit Mands," Mickey scolded, "Suck it up, suck him down, I don't give a shit, just shut  
the fuck up about it."

"I could say the same for you, Assface," She growled, "Sure I'm pissed but at least I'm not  
wallowing around like some fucking bitch."

Every man in the circle sat in various states of shock at Mandy's outburst. Lip tried to stifle his  
laughter, glad to see that the royal family seemed to be just as fucked up as theirs.

Mickey cleared his throat, "Watch yourself," he advised, his voice low and deadly, "or you'll  
wake up in the morning and find yourself betrothed to Voivode Vlad of Wallachia. Remember  
him, Vlad the Impaler," Mandy pursed her lips shut, deciding that pushing her brother was  
probably inadvisable. He turned to Ian, "This guy is a fucking psychopath. Rumor is he had this  
big copper cauldron built that has this fucking lid made of wood with holes on the top of it. He  
puts people in the cauldron with their heads fastened in the holes, fills the shit up with water and  
sets a fucking fire under it. Just let's people cry their eyes out until they're boiled to death."

"No shit..." Ian breathed, his green eyes wide, "You ever meet him?"

Mickey shook his head, "Fuck no, but Mandy did."

"He's really, really scary," She said softly, shaking her head at the memory of her time in  
Romania.

"You'd never really do that would you? Promise her to him?" Ian whispered, sensitive to Mandy's  
now sullen affect.

"Fuck no," Mickey huffed, "The dude's demented. He's got a serious bloodthirst. Just gotta  
remind her of who's in charge."

"You're in charge?" Ian asked, his voice barely audible. He bit his lip and traced his fingertips  
around the bruises on Mickey's wrists, while keeping a watchful eye on the Lip, Thomas and  
Mandy, who were engaged in conversation about the crazy Prince.

The King smirked and raised his eyebrow, "Getting me hard, Gallagher."

"Just now? I've been a fucking rock for an hour," Ian stated, moving his hand down to dip  
between between the King's thighs. Though the alcohol and cannabis had lowered his inhibitions,  
he removed it just as quickly as he'd put it there.

"That right?" Mickey asked, licking his lips hotly, "That big dick's ready to take care of me?"

Ian hummed and leaned in to whisper in his ear, warm breath fanning over his skin, "Don't want  
you to be able to fucking walk when you meet her tomorrow. Gonna make your ass ache so you  
remember who it belongs to."

"Fuck," Mickey breathed, feeling every ounce of his blood rushing to his cock. His eyes devoured  
Ian as he called for his best friend's attention, "Thomas, I'm going back to my chambers. Walk Ian  
there. Henry's already got the guards moved."

"Yes, Your Grace," He dutifully responded.

"Walk fast," The King added. Both Thomas and Ian nodded. He stood up and looked down at his  
sister, "I'd never fucking do that to you and you know it."

She nodded and watched as he made his way back into the woods.

The King was only waiting in his chambers for a few minutes before Ian entered. He smiled at the  
sight of him and laughed when the redhead immediately pushed him down onto the bed. Their  
kissing was frenzied as they frantically stripped each other's clothes off. Mickey grunted when Ian  
spread his legs, hooked his arms under his knees and pulled him up so his asshole was presented  
to him.

"Suck 'em," Ian demanded, shoving his fingers into the King's mouth, "Nice and wet."

Mickey did as he was told, whining when his lover spit directly into his hole and began licking  
around the tight ring of muscles. He didn't tease him for long, instead focusing on eating him like  
he was starving, intent on getting him nice and open for his cock. He dug his face in deep, letting  
the stubble on his chin chafe against Mickey's crack as he titled his head for a better angle. Unable  
to keep his concentration on the long fingers resting on his tongue, the King allowed them to fall  
out of his mouth as he let out a moan.

"Hold yourself up," Ian ordered, prompting Mickey to grab onto his own knees, keeping himself  
spread wide. Ian grinned, pulling his tongue out of the brunet's opening and replacing it with two  
of his fingers. The King winced at the burn, but signaled for Ian to keep going when he looked  
down at him with concern. As he scissored them, he stared down at the pleasured look on his  
boyfriend's face, "You love it."

"I do," Mickey confirmed, gasping when Ian laid a hard smack onto his turned up ass cheek.

"How about that?" He questioned, "You love that?"

"Yeah," He replied softly, taken aback by how much he did.

"Good." Ian continued to finger him roughly, while rubbing his sore cheek. When he spanked the  
angry, red skin again, Mickey let out a broken groan. "So fucking good for me." He leaned down  
to bite and suck various spots onto his warm, fleshy mounds. When he was sure that he'd left a  
smattering of hickeys on Mickey's ass, he removed his fingers from inside of him and brought his  
face up to see the King still holding his knee up with one hand while using the other to jerk  
himself off.

"Get the fuck in me," He croaked, looking positively destroyed.

The redhead smiled down at him, while taking control of his lover's legs again. He frogged them  
out wide to the sides and spit into his gaping hole, "Ag dul a thaispeáint duit go bhfuil mé féin é."

"I don't know what the fuck you're saying," Mickey sighed, cranky and in need of the hard  
fucking he knew he was about to get.

Ian tsked, squatting so he could line his cock up with Mickey's opening, "Gonna show you that I  
own it." Just as he completed the translation, he dropped his dick deep into his lover, wasting no  
time building up to a punishing pace.

Mickey punched out pleasured cry after pleasured cry as Ian jack-hammered into him, "Just like  
that, Ian, fucking rail me."

Ian threw his head back, the sensation of his lover's tight ass contracting around him while he  
moaned his name becoming almost too much to bear, "Fuck, baby, take this cock so nice." He  
wiped the sweat off his brow as he watched his dick move in and out of Mickey's hole.

"Pound it. C'mon," The King demanded, loving the way Ian's heavy balls felt slapping against his  
ass cheeks as he drove into him, "I'm fucking close." He started to yank his dick with fervor while  
Ian fucked him energetically, "Oh shiiit." That was it. The way that his body was folded in half  
caused the King to shoot his cum onto his own chin. The visual had Ian falling over the edge,  
sending streams of hot jizz deep into his boyfriend's body. His twitching hands caused him to drop  
Mickey's legs. He allowed himself to fall onto his firm chest, not concerned that his red mop was  
cleaning up Mickey's chin with every slight movement of his head.

"That was..." Mickey began, shaking his head in disbelief, "really fucking good."

"Only round one," Ian said still panting for breath, "Not gonna be able to walk. Ag dul a  
thaispeáint duit go bhfuil mé féin é," he reminded him.

The King had no complaints.

Chapter Nineteen: 

He woke with the sun, opening his eyes slowly to see his boyfriend peacefully sleeping on his  
pillow only inches away from his face. Careful not to wake him, he lifted his hand and pushed a  
stray red strand off of his freckled forehead. The heavy drapes around the bed were pulled closed,  
a safe cocoon away from the mayhem. On any other day, he would have felt content in the  
moment; wrapped in his lover's arms, lost in their own private world. It was difficult for Mickey to  
be in that headspace when he knew that in just a few hours, he was going to meet the woman who  
many hoped he would marry. He wondered if the prospect of living a lie would've been easier for  
him if he hadn't fallen for the redhead the way he had. Even as a young boy, he knew that he  
would be expected to take a wife who was advantageous for both Wales and his bloodline; None  
of that was a surprise to him, but Ian was. Before him everything was function and responsibility,  
with him there was passion and freedom.

Amber beams of light leaked through the slits of the curtains and washed over Ian, making his hair  
shine like copper and his skin glisten like platinum. In his life he'd worn precious metals and  
possessed rare jewels, but none had been as great a treasure as him. He ran his thumb over pink  
lips parted with sleep, causing them to come together and turn up in a grin. His eyelids fluttering  
open.

"Hey," Mickey greeted softly, giving him a tender kiss, "I gotta get going. Have church and then I  
have to deal with that other shit."

Ian sighed sleepily, "An é seo cad a mhothaíonn grá cosúil? Péine?" He didn't realize the words  
had leaked out of his mouth until he locked eyes with the King and saw the curiosity behind his  
baby blue's. He considered backing out of the translation, making it much less intense, but he  
decided not to. Instead, he gathered his courage and repeated, "Is this what love feels like? Pain?"

Mickey gazed at the man in front of him looking so vulnerable that it made him feel raw in return.  
He knew that he would rather feel anguish with Ian than numb with anybody else. "Maybe it's  
that way for people like us," The King offered, wondering if what they had could really be  
considered a sin.

Ian shook his head, "If we were supposed to be punished we never would've found each other."  
He laid his hand on Mickey's cheek and gave him a small smile, "That would be punishment."

"C'mere," Mickey said, grabbing Ian under the armpits and pulling him on top of him. They  
slotted their mouths together and kissed languidly, moving perfectly in sync; a testament to the  
intimacy they'd been building.

Ian rested his hand on Mickey's hip bone, "Need to taste you," he licked his lips and pressed them  
against the curve of his shoulder shoulder, "Let me," he muttered against warm skin. He let his  
hand travel down to the King's hard dick, gripping it firmly, while positioning himself so he was  
hovering over Mickey, his knees on either side of the brunet's hips. Leaning down, he peppered  
the skin on his chest with kisses.

"Take what you want, baby," Mickey crooned, putting his arms behind his head and letting out a  
contented sigh as he watched Ian kiss down his abdomen, "Just be quick."

Not wanting to waste another second, Ian made his way down his body, salivating at the sight of  
Mickey's perfect cock. The brunet let out a soft laugh at the barely audible "Mmm" that came from  
Ian's lips and raised his hips up to prompt the redhead to stop staring and get his mouth on him.  
He started off slowly tracing his tongue around the head of his cock, allowing himself to savor the  
salty and sweet taste of Mickey's warm skin. Long flat licks up and down his shaft had Mickey  
muttering 'fuck,' his eyes focused on how incredibly sexy Ian looked with tongue bathing his  
cock. Though his preference was to keep watching, he couldn't stop his head from falling back on  
the pillow or his eyes from closing as Ian's bobbed on him, lips fixed tightly around his dick.

Able to feel Mickey's dick grow stiffer and spasm in his mouth, the redhead slowed his pace. He  
pulled off a bit so his lips were wrapped only around the head of his cock and licked at his slit that  
was leaking precum like a faucet. The King tangled his fingers into Ian's hair and pushed him  
down further. "Made for this, you know that?" He moaned, "Such a pretty fucking mouth."  
Knowing that his boyfriend was mere hours away from meeting the Princess, Ian got down to  
business. He was intent on showing the King that nobody could make him feel the way that he  
could. His tongue traced the base of his cock while the tip of his dick brushed against the back of  
his throat. He pulled up only to slam his mouth down, setting a pattern that was destroying  
Mickey. He could feel his whole body begin to buzz as Ian sucked him off like a he was starving.

"Ready for it?" He rasped, his hips involuntarily bucking up into Ian's eager mouth. Ian hummed,  
massaging Mickey's balls. "Take it then..." He let out a sputtering series of groans as he spilled  
down his lover's throat.

The redhead drained him dry, pulling off his cock only when he was sure he wouldn't waste a  
drop. He laid one last kiss on the head of his dick, before wiping his puffy wet lips with the back  
of his hand. He looked down at Mickey and smirked the naughtiest fucking smirk he'd ever seen,

"You're gonna think about me."

"Always think of you," The King promised, outlining Ian's lips with the pad of his fingertip, "So  
gorgeous."

Ian turned his head so he could kiss the inside of Mickey's wrist. "Good luck today," He said  
sincerely, aware that no matter how difficult it was for him, it was worse for the King. He hated  
that either of them had to deal with it.

"I'll see you at the banquet tonight, alright? Gonna be wishing I was with you. Don't fucking  
doubt that."

Ian nodded, the sad expression on his face systematically pulling Mickey apart. As much as he  
loved to look at him, he couldn't bear to see the upset in his eyes. They both got dressed in silence  
and before he left the room, Ian wrapped the King in a tight hug, burying his face into the skin of  
his neck and taking a deep inhale. The brunet searched for the words to comfort him, but he  
couldn't find anything to say. Instead of speaking, he have him a lingering kiss on his forehead.

As soon as Ian left the room he could feel a slight stinging in his eyes. He closed them and took a  
deep breath, willing himself not to lose it in front of Henry, who was waiting patiently to escort  
him to the Courtyard. He wanted to stomp his feet, punch the wall and cry about his unfair it all  
was, but he didn't. Instead, he mumbled 'Good Morning' to the Chamberlain as they began on  
their way.

*  
The Throne room was full of council members and dignitaries all waiting anxiously to see the first  
meeting between King Mikhailo and Princess Isabella. Both monarchs were known around the  
world for their youth and good looks, so many were excited about the prospect of a union  
between them.

Mickey sat down in his throne, grimacing as soon as his ass touched the padded seat. His  
boyfriend achieved his goal of making it difficult for him to walk. He loved the throbbing pain he  
felt deep inside of him that reminded him of the way Ian's big cock had stretched him out and  
made him scream the night before. Nobody had ever fucked him like the redhead did. He turned  
him out every time, making him paint the bed with his cum, over and over again. He was so lost in  
thoughts of Ian that he barely reacted when the Princess and ambassador De La Torre were  
announced.

"Greet her," Mandy whispered from the throne next to her, rising so she could exchange curtseys  
with the Princess.

Mickey stood up and gave her a forced tight lipped grin. Objectively, he knew that she was  
beautiful with her long dark locks and big brown eyes. Her olive skin glowed against the tone of  
her jade silk gown. Her corset was pulled tight around her small waist and she was showing as  
much cleavage as Svetlana did, which Mickey found very off putting. He liked chests chiseled,  
not fat. His mind jumped to licking up Ian's muscular chest and he felt a twitch in his dick. He  
wondered if the physical reaction he had to thoughts of him would ever subside. Somehow he  
doubted they would.

The Princess bowed low to him, saying "Your Grace" in her thickly accented voice. He glanced  
over to Sully, who looked to be a few moments away from panting like a dog. In response he  
decided it was best if he very intentionally and obviously stared at her her heaving chest. She  
looked up at him with heat in her eyes and licked her lips.

"I'm looking forward to hosting a banquet in your honor tonight," He informed her, trying to  
ignore the very obvious eyelash batting she was doing.

"How amazing! I am very much excited for it and also, to get to know you better. I think we will  
get along very splendidly," She said with a rather salacious grin.

Mickey nodded, unsure of what to say. Instead of putting himself out there any further, he sat back  
down in his throne and glanced to Thomas who was too busy looking at the Princess to notice  
him.

"So this is goodbye for now?" She asked, seeming slightly put off, "I thought we would speak of  
our potential future."

She was pushy, flirty and Mickey found that he couldn't stand her already, "Got a lotta time for  
that," The King assured her while he tried to scheme ways to get rid of her without looking shady.

"I am eager to spend a lot of time on you."

The statement had many of the nobles blushing, Mandy giggling and Mickey feeling as though he  
wanted to throw up. He dreaded the moment that Ian witnessed her behavior. Though he had only  
seen glints and glimmers of Ian's jealousy, he was cognizant enough to know that his boyfriend  
would lose his fucking mind if he heard this broad speak to him that way. His head began to spin  
thinking of all the ways things could go wrong and actually considered seeing Thomas to tell Ian  
not to come to dinner that evening. When push came to shove, he was pretty sure that would end  
up to be a more egregious action.

The King watched as ambassador De La Torre gave her elbow a squeeze, most likely an attempt  
to quiet her mouth.

"I'll see you tonight," Mickey said curtly, making his way back to his throne so he could lower  
himself down carefully and watch as she left the room. It seemed as though he had two handfuls  
to contend with now.

Chapter Twenty:

Ian had considered skipping the banquet that night. He knew it would have been better for him to  
avoid it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The Princess was staying for a week and he was  
bound to see her at some point. He didn’t think that it would be any less painful if he waited until  
tomorrow or the next day to lay eyes on her. She was rumored to be beautiful, which aggravated  
him further. He wasn’t worried that her looks would make Mickey more attracted to her, but he  
was concerned that they may spur him to marry her. If he had to take a wife, why not have a  
pretty one? Maybe he would like the attention she’d receive from other men; their lecherous stares,  
knowing that he had a woman they wanted. He felt that all men, to some extent, wanted to be  
envied, even for something they didn’t value. The only thing other men would feel if they saw  
him and the King together would be disgust, as if true love was of lesser worth than obligation.

“You look like someone just told you that they’re gonna put you on the rack, man,” Lip said  
draping his arm around Ian’s shoulders and giving him a little shake, “You gotta get it together. If  
this is too much, we can turn around, fuck off to the woods, smoke a pipe.”

Ian shook his head solemnly, “It is what it is, right? At least I can get wasted on good wine  
tonight, maybe that’ll make it easier.”

Lip cringed, knowing that his brother was sure to get overly emotional and difficult to control if he  
drank too much. “Maybe go easy on the wine. Just enough to take the edge off,” he suggested,  
earning him an unimpressed look from Ian, "or not."

The Great Hall looked enchanting. Topiaries decked with hanging candles lined the walls, casting  
strains of light into the dim room. The tables were draped in white linens and huge crystal vases  
full of fluffy pink peonies sat in the center of each.

"It looks like a goddam wedding in here," Ian hissed, his eyes darting around the room, trying to  
take in every detail.

"I'm sure the King isn't hands on about this kinda shit, Ian," Lip replied, grabbing two glasses of  
wine and handing one to his brother.

"The message is pretty clear," The redhead groused, tilting his head back and draining the glass  
before reaching for Lip's. The shorter man gave it up without a fight as Ian continued to rant, "I  
mean, they're setting the fucking mood. They want people to be able to see, feel it so it's more  
pressure for Mick. Like he doesn't have enough." He scoffed and rubbed his forehead, trying  
unsuccessfully to abate his annoyance.

"We knew this already, right? It's not surprising. It's what the people wanna see."

"What about what Mickey wants? Does anyone give a shit about that?" He snapped, causing his  
brother to rest a hand on his shoulder and shush him.

Lord Barkley's announcement of the King's entry blanketed a hush over the Hall as everyone  
bowed dutifully to the monarch. Before he lifted his head, Ian silently prayed, to an entity that he  
didn't fully believe in, that Mickey's eyes would meet his; that he'd find him among the crowd and  
focus on him. He was overwhelmed by the circumstances and needed to know that he was on his  
boyfriend's mind. As he straightened out, green sunk into a sea of blue. The brunet held his gaze  
for a moment too long, biting his lip after he forced himself to avert his eyes. Though he was too  
far away from him to say a word, Ian heard his promise. A feeling of contentedness flooded over  
him, but just as quickly as it came, it washed away at Lord Barkley next words, "Her Highness,  
Princess Isabella of Spain."

All eyes turned to watch the Princess as she entered the room. The train of her ivory silk gown  
followed her towards the King's throne. Head forgot to bow, as onlookers were too busy admiring  
her exquisite beauty. She curtseyed respectfully. "Your Grace," She greeted in her thick accent.

He nodded his acknowledgement looked to Thomas who seemed to be wordlessly prompting him  
to do something. The King cleared his throat, "Uh, I wanted to thank you for coming to Wales,"  
he began awkwardly, as if it was paining him to say, "I hope you enjoy the dinner I've had  
prepared in your honor. I was told you like fish so that's what we're havin."

"Thank you for inviting me to your majestic country. It is a land that I could call my home," She  
replied, curtseying again, "I have never seen such beauty as I've seen thus far in my visit with  
you." She gave him a suggestive smile, causing his cheeks to tint pink in response, "I find  
everything very attractive," She continued as if Mickey hadn't caught her innuendo.

There were a few stifled chuckles from the Court, but the redhead was not finding any humor in  
the display. "Is she fucking kidding with that shit?" He whispered harshly, shaking his head in  
disbelief. It would have been painful enough to watch his boyfriend to interact with the woman  
who he may marry, but seeing her flirt with him so brazenly was another level of hurt.

"Shhh," Lip warned, wrapping his fingers tightly around his brother's wrist in a futile attempt to  
steady him, "Wanna go?"

Ian shook his head. His lips were clenched tightly, trying to hold back words that were desperate  
to tumble out of them. He felt his chest heave with every deep breath he attempted to draw in.

After the King took his seat, the rest of the guests did as well, awaiting their meals. The room  
buzzed with the energy of animated conversation as the pianist played and the Fool danced.

"I'll go get us another drink," Lip offered, rubbing his Ian's back soothingly as he stood up.

"Get me one, too," Francis ordered, draining his glass and letting out a deep belch. Lip scoffed  
and rolled his eyes at his father's lack of decorum.

Just as he was about to leave the table, Thomas slid into the chair on the other side of Ian. Lip  
gave him a knowing nod and went on his way.

The redhead raised a skeptical eyebrow at the man's presence, "Don't you usually sit with Mick?"

"His Grace," Thomas corrected quietly, "And you know why I'm here."

Ian didn't respond, instead choosing to direct his attention to the front of the room where the King  
was sitting with the Princess. As they spoke she seemed to be taking every opportunity to giggle  
coquettishly and toss her glossy, dark hair. He was sure that things couldn't get worse until he  
heard a familiar voice say:

"She's incredible isn't she?"

He turned to see Sully standing beside their table.

"She looks like a damn painting," Francis agreed, grinning at Sully, "We should all be so lucky to  
keep the company of such a stunning woman, but I guess since we're not kings, it's not in a stars."

The noble shot him a look that screamed 'shut the fuck up' and shook his head with disapproval,  
causing Francis to divert his eyes and begin aimlessly to play with his napkin.

"Thomas, my friend, I'm surprised to see you sitting among peasants rather than taking your  
typical spot beside His Grace," Sully stated, regarding the brunet man curiously, "Are there  
problems between you and the King?"

"If there were issues I would be rotting in the Tower or my head would be rolling in the  
Courtyard. I am simply taking this opportunity to get to know our Irish neighbors better," Thomas  
replied with a wry smile.

"Hmm," Sully hummed skeptically.

"Ah, we have some company I see," Lip stated, purposely knocking Sully's side before sitting  
down and handing his brother and father their wine.

"Watch it, Lip," Sully warned, snarling the Irishman's name, "Don't forget that you are a stranger  
in a strange land."

"Precisely why I'm taking the time to get to know them better," Thomas said, "Would you like to  
join or continue instigating?"

"Oh Sir Brandon, don't forget that your blood is not blue. The King may accept your casual  
regard, but I do not," Sully informed him with a tsk.

"Do you want anything else or are you gonna fuck off?" Lip asked, growing short on patience.

"Son!" Francis cried, aghast by his eldest boy's lack of respect for the high ranking member of the  
Court.

Both Lip and Ian narrowed their eyes at their father dubiously, wondering when he started to give  
a shit about hierarchy. He was notorious for his lack of propriety, which was precisely why they  
had been so surprised by his promotion to ambassador.

"It's alright Sir Francis," Sully said patting the older man's head as he began to walk away, "I don't  
expect more from the lower class."

"What's got into you two?" Francis demanded once Sully was out of listening range.

"The better question is what's gotten into you," Lip retorted.

They continued to bicker as the servers brought plates of fish to the tables. Ian couldn't bring  
himself to eat, instead he pushed the meal around his plate while sneaking peeks at the head table.  
The Princess was still flirting mercilessly with his boyfriend. For the most part, the King was  
playing off her lecherousness, but a few too many times for Ian's liking, he saw Mickey laugh  
genuinely or lick his lip and then bite it in the way that drove the redhead wild; looks that as far as  
he was concerned, should only be for him.

When he glanced over for the 300th time, he was surprised to see the King's eyes locked on him.  
There was sadness behind both of their gazes as they stared at each other longingly. Ian wondered  
how just one look from Mickey had his heart pounding and his blood running warmer. Just as the  
King was about to mouth something to him, a small hand rested tenderly on his cheek and turned  
his head towards her.

The action had Ian's already hot blood boiling under his skin with anger rather than the passion he  
had felt seconds before. When Mickey kept his eyes focused on her, not sparing Ian another  
glance, the redhead felt his body begin to shake. A hand grabbed onto his forearm, but he quickly  
knocked it off as he jumped up from the table. The room was spinning around him and though his  
legs were wobbly and weak, they held him up. Tears filled his eyes and his pulse thumped in his  
ears. And then, he was running.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ian leaned back against the stone wall of the courtyard attempting to catch his breath. He wished  
that he would have been able to keep it together. Realistically, he knew that regardless of what  
happened with the Princess, whether Mickey ended up getting married to her or didn't, he  
wouldn't have feelings for her. It was difficult to stay calm and reasonable when he was watching  
a woman who obviously had interest in his boyfriend, flirt with him so brazenly. It was even  
harder when his boyfriend did nothing to reject her advances. With all eyes on him, it would be  
inadvisable for Mickey to do so, but fuck if the most selfish parts of Ian didn't want him to tell her  
to fuck off. Still, outward acts of refusal would be imprudent, which the King could not afford to  
be. He wanted to believe that he could handle being in a relationship like this, after all, any  
romance in his life would need to remain discreet due to his proclivities, but his intense feelings for  
Mickey made it incredibly painful. More than it had been with men in the past.

"Ní féidir liom é seo," He muttered, rubbing his forehead. Anxiety squeezed his lungs, clenching  
them until he had trouble drawing in a breath. He silently admonished his body for being so easily  
impacted by his stress. It was one thing for his mind to be overwhelmed, but his physical reaction  
always betrayed him.

When a wave of nausea crashed over him, he crouched over and buried his head between his  
knees. He felt his body to begin to tremble with fear. Had he made a scene? Would people realize  
what was going on between him and the King? Did he put Mickey at risk? Would he lose him?  
As much as he questioned whether he could handle a relationship with the monarch, of all of his  
horrible thoughts, the idea of not being with Mickey was the most terrifying. He felt like he  
needed to end it in order to protect himself, but he could fathom breaking it off. His head was  
spinning from the discordance.

"Ní féidir liom é seo." He shook is head and attempted a deep inhale before standing up straight.  
"Ní féidir liom é seo." He repeated the phrase while pacing back and forth nervously, unsure if he  
should grab his balls and rejoin the banquet or go back to his chambers to smoke a pipe.

Before he could protest, someone grabbed his hand and yanked him into the dark, narrow  
passageway he was standing near the entry of.

"Hey, hey," The King soothed, placing his hands on Ian's cheeks and looking directly into his  
glassy green eyes.

"Ní féidir liom é seo," Ian continued his chant, shaking his head. Mickey kept a firm hold on his  
boyfriend's face, attempting to ground him, steady him.

"I don't..." He paused, hating to see how panic stricken he was. "...know what you're saying,  
baby. Slow down."

"Why are you here?" Ian cried, his eyes growing wide, "Are people gonna...." he breathed in a  
sputtering inhale, "did they know..?"

"Shhh, everything's fucking fine, alright?" Mickey assured him, "Are you having one of those  
attacks you told me about? The anxiety or whatever? Do you wanna talk about the Cliffs?"

"Ní féidir liom é seo." He closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again, "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" Mickey asked, squinting his brows down in confusion.

"You, me... us. I can't do it."

"Stop," Mickey ordered, allowing his mouth to fall forward onto Ian's. The kiss was the opposite  
of Ian's current temperament; slow and patient. As their tongues tangled languidly, Ian's heart  
began to beat less erratically. Mickey's hand slid to the cradle of his head as they deepened the  
kiss, both needing the closeness and reassurance. "You don't mean that shit," He stated, pushing  
the few red strands that were lying on his forehead out of his face, "Don't wanna lose you, not  
over this dumb shit, Ian."

"It hurts," Ian said softly, "Seeing her all over you... I can't take it."

"It's a good thing, though," The brunet assured him, earning a look of discontent from his  
boyfriend, who turned to walk away, "Hey, wait. Hear me out." He pleaded, holding onto Ian's  
elbow so he wouldn't leave.

The redhead looked at him expectantly, his expression softening slightly as Mickey looped his  
arms around his waist and pulled him in close. He nestled his face into his neck and began to  
deliver gentle kisses to the sensitive spots, he knew drove him crazy. The sound of Ian's soft sighs  
made him hunger for the man more than he ever had. When he held him, he felt like nothing else  
in his fucked up world mattered, just them, just him.

"The more fucking out there she is, flirty and shit, the better," Mickey explained against his lover's  
skin, "I can tell the council she was too vulgar to make a wife, not chaste enough."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, feeling hopeful for the first time all week, "You think they'd question it or...?"

"Nah, man," Mickey said, continuing to leave marks on Ian's skin as his mouth traveled down to  
his collarbone, "They all have fucking eyes, can see how forward she is."

"Couldn't take my eyes off of you," He admitted as Mickey gently pushed him against the wall  
and slid a hand up the back of his chemise, needing to feel his skin, "It hurts."

"I'm sorry you gotta deal with this shit. I know it ain't easy, especially with... you know, the  
problems you got or whatever, but it's just you, alright? I don't got eyes for anyone else. Fucking  
crazy about you."

When Mickey's lips met his, he kissed him back hungrily. It was a culmination of the emotions  
that had been weighing on him throughout the night; passion punctuated by neediness. They  
kissed until their lips were puffy and their breath was lost. "I'm sorry I fucking ran. I hope that  
people don't think..."

"Told them I didn't feel well," Mickey interrupted, "Don't worry about it, okay? Let me fuck with  
that shit."

Ian nodded, resting his well kissed lips against Mickey's, "Want you."

"Your room?" The King suggested, earning a skeptical look from Ian.

"You sure they won't send a search party out for you?"

"The people who matter know where I go when I'm lost," Mickey said, gesturing for Ian to follow  
him.

They walked beside each other to Ian's chambers and once inside, they closed the space. Stripping  
of their clothes quickly, they laid down on the bed, lips still connected as Ian reached for his oil.  
He worked Mickey open as they kissed ardently, desperate to get melt into each other.

When the brunet's legs began to shake and tremble, Ian got the hint. He climbed onto his knees,  
face flushed as he gazed down at his lover. He lined his cock up with Mickey's hole. They both let  
out twitched at the sensation and Ian groaned as Mickey's body shuddered around him with the  
pleasure of being full.

"You got me, you know that? Head over heels," Ian crooned, laying flank against Mickey so he  
could rest his lips against his shoulder as he slowly rolled his hips into him. The room was almost  
silent now, save the soft grunts and moans they were releasing into each other's skin, "Not gonna  
run."

Ian peeled his lips off of Mickey's shoulder so he could look into his deep blue eyes. They were  
hooded and blown, looking at Ian with immense lust and admiration.

Resting his forehead against Mickey's, the redhead pushed in deeper, giving pointed pulses to his  
prostate. He snaked his hands up around the back of Mickey's neck, holding the cradle of his head  
as he nuzzled his nose up to rub at his. They connected their lips once again as Mickey gasped  
into his mouth at his latest plunge. He nipped at Mickey's bottom lip and pulled it out a bit so that  
he could slip his tongue deep into his mouth. The embrace was eager, as if their lips weren't raw  
from the kissing they'd done prior.

Mickey had never had sex like this, never felt so smitten and cared for. He'd been with a lot of  
men, but he'd never made love to any of them. He let out a contented sigh when he realized that's  
what he and Ian were doing; physically promising their devotion to one another as they climbed  
closer to their orgasms.

Not wanting it to end, Ian slid out, guiding Mickey's hips so he was laying on his side, takings  
only seconds before their bodies reconnected. He laid his arm on top of Mickey's and intertwined  
their fingers, moving as close to him as humanly possible and still feeling too far away. Their  
bodies melted together, limbs tangled like strings as they found their rhythm.

"Fuck baby," The King hummed, drawing a soft grunt from Ian, who got off on every word that  
leaked from his mouth.

Ian buried his face into his lover's back, sinking deeper into his body with every rolling thrust. He  
felt Mickey shift his free hand down to his cock and his ass clench around him, indications that  
was ready to cum. Ian pushed in deeper, emptying himself inside of his lover. Mickey's body  
contracted around Ian's throbbing cock as he panted quietly through his orgasm.

The redhead laid a kiss on his back as Mickey brought his hand to his mouth gently. Lips on skin,  
to lips on lips, loving eyes and resting hips. Ian stared at him in awe, still unable to believe at times  
that he had him like this, so free and open, tender and sweet. He watched Mickey settle in,  
wondering if he was really intending to stay in his shitty little bed with him. When Mickey pulled  
Ian's arm over him and intertwined their fingers he got his answer. The slow, steady rhythm of  
Mickey's breathing began to lull him to sleep; all the stress of an hour earlier fading away as if it  
was a chaotic dream, rather than reality. As they laid slotted together, any questions Ian had  
dissipated, leaving only the raw feelings that burned so intensely for Mickey.

"I'm falling in love with you," Ian whispered into the darkness, feeling his lover's pulse move  
through his veins.

"I already fell."

They instinctively moved closer to one another, Mickey back and Ian forward, wondering how  
the single bed felt so spacious.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered, untangling himself from Ian’s long limbs. He sat up on the small bed  
and stretched the kink out of his neck. Even as a child, he slept on a bed twice the size of the one  
that his boyfriend was relegated to. The thought of Ian sleeping in it night after night made him  
cringe.

“You alright?” Ian asked sleepily, wrapping his arms around the King’s waist and curling his  
body so he could rest his forehead on his lover’s ass.

“Bed’s fucking uncomfortable, man,” The King groused, smiling when he felt soft lips traveling  
over his cheeks. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, “Can’t believe you gotta  
sleep in it every night.”

“I sleep in your bed most nights,” He reminded him as he gently sucked marks onto Mickey’s  
flesh, “Lay down, I’ll give you a massage.”

“Should be taking care of you,” Mickey stated, shifting to lay his stomach flank against the  
mattress. He moaned as Ian’s big hands began to work his sore muscles, “Don’t want you in this  
bed.”

“Where do you want me then?” He asked leaning into Mickey’s body and kneading deeply.

“Mine,” He replied simply, grinning against the scratchy sheets as Ian kissed the nape of his neck,

“Would get you a new one for your naps and shit, but it’d look shady as hell. How the fuck would  
I explain that?”

“I gotta keep my boyfriend’s body feeling good so he can keep making me feel good?” Ian  
suggested with a chuckle.

Mickey laughed. “Yeah, sure. Don’t need a fucking head anyway.”

“They’re totally overrated.”

“Completely.”

Ian hummed as he continued to work out the King’s aches. “I wasn’t brought up like you were.  
This bed is what I’m used to. It’s fine. A bed like yours,” He sighed, “I couldn’t even dream of  
anything like that when I was growing up. Sully’s not that far off, you know.”

“My cousin says stupid fucking shit all the goddamn time. Snotty ass, motherfucker. Don’t want  
you to listen to him,” Mickey grumbled, the aggravation evident in his tone, “You already create  
enough bullshit in your head, don’t need him makin’ it worse.”

“I just…” He paused, thinking of the best way to phrase his statement, “He said we were peasants  
and we kinda are. We’re still just farmers from Galway. Francis’ dumbass somehow got involved  
in politics, but that doesn’t change who we are, what we are.”

“Your hands are strong, your body’s built, and your heart’s solid. If being a farmer made you that  
way, I’ll take a peasant over nobility any day.”

The redhead dipped his head down to kiss Mickey’s lips sweetly. “You’re perfect, you know that?  
Too good for me.”

“Shh. Shit’s getting too fucking mushy for so early in the morning.” The King turned over and  
smiled at Ian, pulling him down onto him for a kiss.

“Every time I compliment you, you shut me up,” He pointed out, peppering his chest with pecks.

“Not true.”

“It is,” Ian contended, “Every time.”

“Used to people blowing smoke up my ass, I guess. When you say shit it feels different, like you  
mean it,” Mickey sniffed uncomfortably and nudged the side of his nose with the pad of his finger.

“I do,” He assured him, sincerity rife in his green eyes, “I mean everything I say to you.” A smirk  
pulled up his lips and Mickey looked at him dubiously.

“What?” The King asked, laughing as Ian began to slide down his body.

“Can’t say shit like ‘blowing smoke up my ass’ to me. Makes me want to blow you and eat your  
ass,” Ian flirted, lifting his eyebrows.

“Fucking do it then,” Mickey crooned, putting his arms behind his head. He licked his lips  
salaciously and closed his eyes, letting Ian get him lost… again.

*  
Mickey’s idea of a good afternoon didn’t include giving the touchy-feely Princess a tour of his  
grounds, but that’s where he found himself. He wished that he was still in Ian’s shitty little bed  
with him. He could’ve stayed there all day, just kissing, talking, joking, fucking, He hated that he  
had so many obligations that pulled him away from being in his company. Every hour with him  
was too short, and with the Princess, each minute too long.

“Do you spend much time in these beautiful gardens?” Princess Isabella asked as they walked  
down a stone path that was lined with rose bushes, “I don’t believe I would ever leave, so many  
gorgeous flowers to smell.” She leaned down and took an exaggerated whiff of a fuchsia bloom,  
“Mmmmm,” She moaned, plucking it off the plant and sliding it behind her ear, “What do you  
think?” She grinned and modeled her new look.

“That it’s dead now?” Mickey offered, earning a humph from the unimpressed Princess.

“You are not a very romantic man,” She stated, “Many others write me poems, sing me  
songs, paint my picture, but you do none of these things.”

“Ain’t my style,” Mickey replied simply.

“Do you have a woman already? Perhaps she is of lesser blood and you have your trysts but  
cannot marry her. This is it, isn’t it?” She asked curiously, “You are afraid that if you dance or  
tease with me, you will upset her.”

“Don’t got a woman,” The King informed her, “I’m a pretty religious guy,” He began, thinking  
that his goofy boyfriend may have given him the best solution to his situation without knowing it.  
Bless Ian and his impious ass, “I’m saving myself for marriage, so I like things to remain… you  
know, chaste and shit.”

“Are you saying that I am a wanton woman? With loose morals?” She asked, narrowing her dark  
eyebrows as she studied Mickey’s face.

“What? Fuck, no,” He said quickly, shaking his head, “I’m just saying that I’m prude, y’know?  
So I don’t know how to really react or whatever.”

“So if we marry, I would be your teacher? Show you the boundless pleasures of sex?” She  
questioned, licking her puffy pink lips, “I think I like this.” She looped her elbow around his and  
giggled when he stiffened with discomfort, “You are a good boy. This is very much a turn on.”

As they continued towards the grass covered amphitheater, where many members of Court spent  
their time playing sport, Mickey cursed his luck. In telling her he was a virgin, he’d somehow  
issued a challenge which she seemed inclined to conquer.

“Have you hosted any other Princesses? Queens?”

The King shook his head, “Nah, you’re the first.”

“I could be the first in many ways,” She said lasciviously, “I like this. Exploring uncharted  
territories with you; this would be a pleasure.”

“Alright, alright.” The King shifted to pull his arm away from hers and wiped his forehead with  
his palm. She was too fucking much. In the near distance he could see a shock of red hair and just  
as he was about to suggest to the Princess that they change their course, a pair of green eyes  
locked on him. “Fuck,” He mumbled. He was unsure if it would be worse to approach the group  
of men that Ian was lounging with in the grass, or ignore them. His boyfriend wasn’t giving him  
any sort of indication. He was propped up on his elbows with his head tilted back, allowing the  
sun to kiss his skin, while Thomas told a story that had Lip and a few other Knights laughing.  
Noticing the King’s attention fixed on the gathering, she asked, “Are these your friends? Shall we  
go over and speak with them?”

Before Mickey could make a decision, he saw them all rise to the feet and bow their heads.

“Your Grace,” Thomas greeted as they approached, “Your Highness.” He took the Princess’ hand  
and dropped down on one knee, pressing his lips against it, “Enchanted.”  
Isabella giggled looking down at him as if he was a steak and she was starving, “You did not tell  
me your Court was so attractive, Your Grace.” She said, her eyes still connected with his best  
friend’s.

The King took the opportunity to look at Ian, who was standing with his arms crossed over his  
chest, seeming to be painfully uncomfortable. They didn’t exchange words, but glances, gauging  
the other’s temperaments.

“Of course none are more gorgeous than you, my King,” She promised, tickling her fingertips  
across the nape of his neck.

Mickey dragged his thumb across his bottom lip and sighed, feeling his stomach flip as he prayed  
that Ian was able to hold it together. He caught sight of the grimace on Lip’s face and how he’d  
rested his hand on the small of his brother’s back. Ian was looking down at his boots attempting  
not to react, refusing to meet Mickey’s gaze.

When the redhead lifted his head, he was taken aback when he saw Thomas’ sympathetic eyes  
upon him. He just swallowed hard and stared towards the woods, wishing that’s where they were,  
rather than in this awkward situation.

“I’ve never seen hair this color,” Isabella stated, moving forward to tangle her fingers into Ian’s  
tresses, pulling his attention back to her, “It shines more than I could ever dream mine would.”  
He gave her a polite smile, his cheeks flushing pink.

“You blush like a school boy. This is adorable,” She crooned, “It is clear that you find me very  
gorgeous.” She glanced at Mickey and titled her head coquettishly, “You are a lucky man, see?”  
A slew of curses and insults were threatening to spill out of Mickey’s mouth if he opened it, so he  
kept his lips pursed tightly and his eyes on his boyfriend, who was redder than the most pigmented  
rose. The Princess patted Ian’s cheek before dropping her hand.

“Very lucky,” Ian agreed softly, feeling Lip’s fingers claw into his back, an unmistakable  
warning.

She beamed at Ian, clearly impressed with the half-hearted compliment, “Well, it was good to  
meet all of you,” She said pleasantly, “Such handsome faces to gaze at, but we are off to admire  
the beauty of nature in the woods, yes? A little duckpond.”

Mickey nodded, trying to catch Ian’s eyes, but failing miserably in his pursuit. He could tell by the  
way his boyfriend’s chin was jutting out that he was not thrilled with the next stop on their tour.  
He knew it probably wasn’t his brightest idea to take the Princess to the spot where he and Ian had  
spent so many afternoons lounging and falling in love, but it was a place that made him happy and  
he needed to feel that among his discontent. He had a feeling that he was going to be experiencing  
a great deal more displeasure in retaliation. He was moderately shocked by how eerily calm Ian  
seemed to be all of a sudden. He easily met Mickey’s eyes and gave him a small smile, which as  
nice as it seemed, had Mickey shitting himself.

Thomas cleared his throat and bowed his head, once again kissing the Princess’ hand, “I’m sure  
you will have a wonderful time. It’s been an honor to speak with you and I’m hoping that I can  
once again before you make your way back to Spain.”

“I would be delighted,” She chirped. Her eyes scanned the group, “to speak with you all again.”  
She smiled at Mickey who was silently reciting the ‘Hail Mary’ with every word correct,

“Hopefully I will be seeing you many more times.”

“We should be so blessed,” Ian crooned, bowing low.

Mickey glanced over his shoulder a few times as they made their way to the woods to see if his  
boyfriend was looking towards him. He was not surprised to find he wasn’t. He was pretty sure  
that he was fucked. And not in a good way.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As much as Mickey despised All Fool's Day, he hated May Day more. When he was younger,  
with less responsibility, he looked forward to it. All the castle's teenagers would spend the night  
getting wasted in the woods and bring a large tree trunk back to the gardens the next morning to  
use as the Maypole. Everyone would decorate the stupid thing and eat, dance, and get more drunk  
beside it. Year after year the magic began to wane until there was none left for Mickey. To go  
from enjoying something to resenting it was a complete mindfuck. It made him question how  
much his position had changed him and if he would ever be able to go back to the days where he  
found joy in at least some of the traditions.

It wasn't typical for the King to partake in the festivities, but Mickey was an atypical King. He'd  
skipped it the year before and thought about doing so again, but Princess Isabella had heard about  
it and pleaded with him to take her, so he obliged. It wasn't that he didn't like drinking and  
smoking, he did. He just preferred not to do it in front of the watchful eyes of the Court, hence his  
disenchantment regarding May Day and all the other bullshit festivals.

As he headed into the woods with Mandy, Isabella and Thomas, Mickey began to wonder if  
showing up was as crappy an idea as taking her to duck pond had been. He couldn't get Ian's face  
out of his head. It seemed as though something clicked and shifted within him, but Mickey  
couldn't put his finger on what it was. All he knew was that his boyfriend would be among the  
revelers and he didn't want the presence of the Princess to dampen his spirits. Still, there was only  
so much control he had over the situation; Isabella had wanted to go and in order to be a gracious  
host, he needed to escort her.

The majority of the partiers were by the clearing and from the ruckus laughter that was filling the  
air, it was clear they were already partaking in the mead and cannabis. When they caught sight of  
the King, a hush fell over the crowd as they showed their respect. He scanned the bowed heads  
for his boyfriend's and was surprised when he didn't see him. He tried not to worry, but found that  
Ian's absence was all he could think about. Luckily, Mandy, Thomas and a few of their friends  
were keeping Isabella busy, allowing Mickey to sit down at the base of an oak tree and sip his  
whiskey in peace.

Just when he was about to send Thomas to check on Ian, he saw the redhead and his brother  
amble into the clearing. From the apparent stumbling in his steps, it was obvious that Ian and Lip  
had partied like Gallaghers prior to the start of the May Day celebration.

The King tried not to stare but found that it was nearly impossible. Ian had traded his usual white  
chemise for a dark grey one, which laid slightly wrinkled over the waist of his black pants. His  
hair was a bit messier than it typically was and he'd left a fair amount of scruff on his face. Even  
the way he was holding himself felt different, more brazen, less sweet. He watched as Ian greeted  
a group of guys and took a hit off of one of their pipes. He blew out smoke rings, while laughing  
at something one of them was saying. Mickey tried to imagine his freckled cheeks flushing, and  
couldn't. He looked so confident it was bordering on dominant. Though the King had never  
questioned his boyfriend's raw masculinity, that side of him most often came out in bed. It was  
almost too much to handle that he was giving off those vibes without being inside of him.  
He saw Lip nudge Ian and gesture towards him. Though they were several feet away from each  
other, Mickey nodded his 'hello' after the two Irishmen bowed. He tried not to be bothered by the  
fact that Ian didn't look at him for a second longer than he had to, instead he threw back some  
mead and followed Lip over to a group of girls. He idly wondered how often his boyfriend acted  
as his brother's wingman. From the ease of their interaction, it seemed that this wasn't a rare  
occurrence.

Mickey started to gulp down the whiskey at a hasty pace, finding it nearly impossible to look  
away from what was unfolding in front of him. Apparently by just existing, Ian had become a  
favorite of the girls, who were very obviously, and as far as Mickey was concerned, extremely  
ineffectively flirting with him. In response, his boyfriend was smirking and pushing his hair back,  
driving them more wild with every movement. When Ian lifted the hem of his shirt to dab his  
brow, thus revealing his cut abs, the King was sure that Ian knew precisely what he was doing to  
them and to him. He averted his eyes and nudged his nose with his knuckle, annoyed that his  
bitchass boyfriend was attempting some sort of heterosexual mating ritual in order to make him  
jealous. He was even more aggravated that it was working. Ian stayed with the girls for an  
impossibly long time, becoming more and more intoxicated as the night wore on.

"You thinking about being social or are you just gonna stare at him the whole time?" Thomas  
asked, sitting down next to his friend and grabbing the flask from his hand to gulp down some of  
the whiskey. He grimaced as the alcohol burned its way down his throat.

"Haven't decided yet," The King replied, happy to see that Ian had finally left the giggling girls  
and made his way back to the guys he'd smoked with when he'd arrived, "He alright?"

Thomas shrugged, "Not sure. Lip told me that he was fucked up off his ass before they got here.  
He tried to keep him away, but it sounds like he's a lot to handle, tough to control," he paused,

"You know, has all the qualities that you can't afford to fuck around with."

Mickey just threw up his finger in response. They sat in a companionable silence for a few  
minutes.

"The Princess seems to be having fun," Thomas said, gesturing over to where Isabella was  
making out with one of the girls.

"Sully seeing that?" Mickey asked, glancing over to his cousin, whose eyes were nearly popping  
out of his head at the visual.

"Seems like it," Thomas laughed.

"Good." The King turned his attention back to Ian, who was taking a hit off a guy's pipe. He  
watched as the blond man leaned in close to his boyfriend and whispered something in his ear,  
while resting his hand on the small of his back. Ian shook his head, but the man persisted, moving  
in close again and saying something that drew a laugh from the redhead. Mickey felt a boiling hot  
rage surge through his body. It tempered a bit when Ian walked away, but not enough to cool  
completely. "Who the fuck's that?"

"The blond dude? Lord Clancy's son Gregory."

"Have Barkley schedule him a haircut tomorrow."

Thomas closed his eyes and sighed, "Mick, you don't wanna..." he began, but the King's assertive  
voice interrupted.

"Did I slur my fucking words?" His eyebrows were raised high in challenge, causing Thomas to  
shake his head.

"Got it." He watched as Isabella called Ian over to her. The redhead seemed taken aback, but  
nevertheless, headed in her direction, "Fuck," Thomas muttered, turning to Mickey wide eyed,

"You trust him?"

The King pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbed small circles. It was a loaded  
question, but the answer was easy. "No. Not when he's like this. Walk him back to his room and  
wait with him till Henry comes to bring him to me."

Thomas sighed and nodded, giving his friend a pat on his shoulder, glad he made the difficult, but  
correct decision.

As Isabella was showing Ian's hair off to the group of girls, Thomas joined, cracking a few jokes  
that had the ladies laughing.

Mickey felt his heart pound as Thomas pulled Ian away from the group. They argued somewhat  
animatedly and when the conversation culminated, Ian shot Mickey a look that drilled icicles into  
his bones. The brunet waved his boyfriend over, much to Thomas' chagrin. Not giving a fuck  
what either of the dumbasses had to say about it, he followed Ian, ready to jump in if necessary.

As soon as Ian approached the King he bowed dutifully, "Your Grace." When he lifted his head,  
Mickey noticed that his pupils were completely blown.

"Want you to go back to your chambers, ok?" He began softly, trying not to make a scene.

"Are you serious right now?" Ian snapped, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Do I look serious?" He asked, attempting to muster every ounce of his patience. He did. "Go  
take a nap or some shit and I'll call for you soon. Sleep it off a little."

"In my piece of shit bed that's unfit for the King?" Ian hissed, venom leaking off his words.  
Mickey sniffed, getting really fucking peeved by the fact that Ian threw nice things he'd said to  
him that morning back into his face, "That's not fair."

"None of this is fair," He retorted, shrugging off the soothing hand that Thomas had rested on his  
shoulder, "Know what's especially not fair? You taking a fucking whore to our spot." Ian's chin  
was trembling with anger and Mickey was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles blanched.

"Look at me you mouthy motherfucker," Mickey growled, rising to his feet, "Thomas is gonna  
escort your lanky ass outta here and you're gonna shut the fuck up while he does. Then you're  
gonna lay down on your piece of shit bed and rest until I call for you."

Ian was glaring at him with an inferno of anger behind his eyes.

"You you can call me every name in the book, punch me in the fucking face. I don't care. Until  
then you shut the fuck up and remember who's the King."

Ian dropped his head respectively and allowed Thomas to lead him away by his elbow. Mickey  
sat back down, afraid his knees might give out if he didn't. He drained the rest of his flask,  
thinking that he'd need as much help as possible to endure the amount of anger that was sure to be  
coming his way. As he watched Ian and Thomas' silhouettes grow smaller,   
he adjusted the hardon straining against his pants and admonished himself for being so turned on by Ian's petulance.  
He knew he was going to be trouble, he just didn't realize how much and the intensity with which  
it would work him up. He was fucked.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thomas watched as Ian paced the length of his room, intermittently huffing and shaking his head  
in annoyance. His knuckle was still bleeding from the punch he’d stupidly delivered to the stone  
wall a few minutes earlier and his breathing was clearly erratic.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked the redhead gently, shrugging when the agitated man shot  
him a perplexed look, “I know it’s not easy. Can see the way she acts.”

Freezing in place, Ian lifted his eyebrow dubiously as if he wasn’t sure he could trust the man that  
was sitting on the edge of his bed. “Bothered me when he took her to the place he takes me,” He  
admitted softly, focusing his attention on the floorboards rather than the other man’s face, “The  
Castle grounds are expansive. He didn’t need to do that.”

Thomas nodded, “He’s never done, you know…” he gestured towards Ian, “this before, cared  
about someone that he’s been with like he does with you. Don’t think he thought it through,  
probably should’ve, but I know for fucking sure he wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Ian rubbed the back of his neck unsure of what to say in response.

“But you were,” He continued, “trying to hurt him, right? With those girls?”

“I’m not interested in girls,” Ian replied stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Neither is he,” He reminded him with a tilt of his head, “Don’t be obtuse.”

Ian looked up at him wordlessly and began to traipse across the room again; back and forth so  
many times that Thomas grew dizzy watching him. He laid back on the bed and wondered what  
was taking Henry so long. He wanted to retire from his babysitting duties for the evening and try  
his luck with Princess Isabella and her make out partner. Just as he was about to drift to sleep he  
heard a knock on the door. Ian pulled it open to reveal a very tired Henry, “You ready to go Sir  
Gallagher?”

“What if I don’t want to go?” The redhead questioned, his chin jutting out to reveal his  
indignation.

“You go anyway,” Thomas chimed in, stretching his arms over his head and sighing in  
exasperation, “You have a King in Ireland, correct?” He asked rhetorically, moving across the  
room to lean on the frame of the open door and look Ian in his eyes, “Imagine you were fucking  
him instead of ours. Would you be insubordinate?”

With that, Ian drew in a sharp inhale and followed Henry abjectly to the King’s chambers. He slid  
his hands into his pockets as Henry rapped on the door before pushing it open. The older man  
bowed and announced, “Sir Gallagher is here to see you, Your Grace.” After the King muttered  
his acknowledgment, Henry ushered Ian into the room, closed the door and stuck the cotton balls  
he’d hidden in his jerkin into his ears. It was going to be a long night.

Mickey scoffed as Ian bowed low to him, “Your Grace.”

“Stand the fuck up,” The King demanded, not amused by the Ian’s mock subservience.  
The redhead did as he was told and the two men stared at each other with fury in their eyes.  
Slowly Ian moved closer to him, surprised when the brunet shoved him back.

“Fuck you,” He spat, pushing him harder when he made another attempt to approach him, “and  
fuck me for giving a shit.”

“This is about the bed, huh?” Ian asked with a sardonic grin turning up his lips, “All this bullshit  
and you’re butthurt that I called you out for that.”

“Fucking stupid you did,” Mickey replied, sniffing uncomfortably as Ian came towards him again.  
The redhead punched out a derisive laugh when the King shunted him for a third time, “Making a  
goddamn scene flirting with those girls. Should throw your ass in the Tower and let you rot.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian asked, lifting his eyebrows with amusement, “Who’d take care of yours then? The  
Princess? Hmm?” He snarled, grabbing Mickey’s hand and pressing it against the hard bulge in  
his pants. When the brunet yanked it away, Ian grasped into his hair with spread out fingers and  
pulled it hard enough to tilt the King’s head back, exposing the curve of his neck. Mickey gasped  
as the taller man leaned down to press his tongue against his collarbone and drag it heavily over  
his Adam’s apple.

“F..Fuck off,” He stammered, feeling his lover’s grip tighten until his scalp prickled with pain. He  
was nearly breathless when Ian crashed his lips against his and stole the few exhales he was able  
to produce. The kiss was aggressive, drenched in frustration and retaliation; tongues fighting for  
dominance, teeth scraping to punish.

“You ordered me here,” Ian reminded him, his voice husky against Mickey’s full lips.  
The King knocked his elbow so Ian would loosen his hold in his hair and backed away. He  
rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and turned towards the window.

“Leave then. If you don’t want to be here, fucking go. See if I give a shit.” He nudged his knuckle  
against the side of his nose before wiggling it slightly, “Ain’t gonna chase after you like some  
fucking bitch.”

“You sure about that?” Ian asked cocking his head to the side and grinning at the King.  
Mickey shot both of his middle fingers up, turning to glare at his boyfriend, “Asshole.”

“I’m the asshole?” He exclaimed, widening his eyes in disbelief, “Hilarious! You do realize that  
you brought that FUCKING WHORE to the pond where you took me! Our fucking spot. Though  
it meant something, but I guess it didn’t mean shit to you, huh?” Ian yelled, his face red with  
anger.

“I didn’t think…” Mickey sighed and rubbed his forehead, “I took her there because it fucking  
sucks to be around her and I wanted to feel close to you,” he paused and looked at Ian, “don’t  
know why since you’re such a fucking prick, but I shouldn’t have done it, alright?” He raised his  
eyebrows expectantly, “Happy?”

“Nothing about this makes me happy,” Ian snorted, realizing what he’d said after the words had  
flown out his mouth, “Fuck, I didn’t mean…” His face softened when he saw the hurt on his  
boyfriend’s, “That came out wrong.”

“Sounds like it came out exactly how you fucking meant it to,” The King replied, running his  
tongue over his top teeth, “Told you shit wouldn’t be perfect. Never lied to you about that.”

"Shit doesn't need to be perfect." Ian closed the space between them, clutching his boyfriend’s ass  
and pulling him forcefully towards him. "Nobody's perfect." He let his shallow breath pulse on  
Mickey's face for a moment, before whispering, “But this body...,” He slid his hands under his  
waistband and cupped as much of his ass as he could get, “is fucking perfect.”

“Ain’t getting any of it tonight case that's what your thinkin'," The brunet informed him, keeping  
his expression like stone as Ian kneaded his cheeks. Up for the challenge, the redhead took  
Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at it naughtily. Hooking his tongue around  
Mickey’s to draw it out, he wrapped his lips around the muscle and sucked it like a cock. He  
hummed when he heard his lover attempt to stifle a soft moan. While fellating his boyfriend’s  
tongue, he felt Mickey beginning to untie his pants. He pulled off with a pop and gave the brunet  
a smug grin.

“That right?” He questioned, licking his lips lewdly, "What're you trying to loosen my pants for  
then, hm?"

The King silently admonished his hands for having a mind of their own. He immediately removed  
them from Ian's laces and shoved them into his pocket. Unlike the rest of his body, they were  
clearly dick whipped. Already fed up with his eager hands, he attempted to stop his eyes from  
betraying him as well, demanding that they not stare at Ian as he yanked down his pants, revealing  
his gorgeous, thick, long cock. He cursed his tongue for licking his lips at the sight of it and  
chided his own dick for straining uncomfortably against his pants. "I wasn't," He stated,  
aggravated that his brain had evidently decided to give up on thinking.

Ian nodded, obviously amused. He wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke it  
slowly, loving the look of want on Mickey's face as he jerked himself off. Swiping his thumb over  
his leaking slit, he collected the precum and smeared it against his shaft carefully. "Feels good,"  
He told the King, biting his lip wantonly, "Not like when you do it, but still pretty good."

"You just gonna stand there and beat your meat?" Mickey questioned, very obviously doing  
everything in his power not to do the same.

Ian shrugged, "Maybe." He stopped for long enough to pull off his chemise, revealing his  
muscular chest and the V that acted as an arrow to highlight his dick. "Guess I could go back to  
my chambers and do it there if you want me to leave."

"Up to you," Mickey replied with feigned nonchalance, adjusting himself as he focused on rivulet  
of precum hanging from tip of his boyfriend's dick, "Don't care."

"Tell me goodbye," He challenged, swiping the cum with his thumb and licking it lewdly. He  
smirked at the sight of Mickey's mouth hanging open, "What?" When the King dropped to his  
knees in front of him and stuck his tongue out fully under the drip, Ian hummed knowingly,

"Mmmhmm." He tilted his head to watch as Mickey ardently sucked his cock, loving the way his  
full lips looked stretched around his girth, "Good, you remember where you belong." His words  
made Mickey go harder, desperate to please the man standing above him, "Perfect cocksucker,  
aren't you? Perfect for me?"

Mickey nodded, groaning when the movement pulled Ian further down his throat. He continued to  
work his boyfriend like a pro, bobbing his mouth up and down as the redhead's fingers gently  
caressed his dark locks. When he felt a knee softly nudge his chest, he looked up into Ian's hooded  
eyes.

"Take your fucking clothes off and get on your hands and knees. Wanna watch you prep  
yourself," He ordered, humming his approval when the King dutifully rose to his feet and stripped  
off his garments.

Ian grabbed the oil out of the nightstand, stacked two pillows and rested his head on them,  
waiting. He grinned salaciously at his boyfriend who was standing at the foot of the bed between  
two panels of the crimson drapes, "Show me how you crawl."

The King licked his lips, a hint of pink creeping across his face as he climbed onto the bed, putting  
one hand in front of the other as he moved towards his lover.

"Good. Now turn around so I can see." He rolled the vial of oil to Mickey, watching lustfully as  
he positioned himself so his ass was directly in his view and his head was beside his feet. The  
visual immediately compelled Ian to jerk his cock to the show. Mickey's fingers were dipping  
deep into his hole, tattoos blurring from his speedy movements. When Ian laid a hard smack on  
one of his fleshy mounds, he dropped his head between his shoulders and whined. "Shouldn't  
have taken her there," The redhead tsked, rubbing circles over the angry red skin before laying  
down another smack, "You fucked up didn't you?"

Mickey nodded his head still stretching himself for his boyfriend's dick.

"Wanna hear you say it," Ian prompted, letting out a sigh when he recognized how quickly  
Mickey was making room for him.

"I fucked up," He stated sincerely, glancing over his shoulder to meet his boyfriend's eyes, "Never  
should've taken her there. It's yours."

"That's right," Ian praised, raising up to his knees. He held onto Mickey's hip with one hand and  
reached his other around to tug on the King's cock, "What else is mine?"

"My cock." He moaned at the sensation of Ian's fingers looped around him.

"Mmm that is mine," The redhead agreed, pulling Mickey's wrist so his fingers slid out of his ass,

"What else?" He replaced his boyfriend's digits with his own, scissoring him aptly.

"My ass, my ass is yours."

"Fucking right that's mine," Ian said with a grin, laying another hard spank on his skin and  
causing Mickey to keen underneath him. "What else? Most important thing..." he prompted,  
hooking his fingers to press against his prostate. The brunet shook under his touch.

"Fuck," He breathed, biting viscously into his lower lip, "Me. I'm yours."

"Only mine," Ian clarified, removing his fingers and slapping his lover's crack with his heavy  
cock.

"Only yours," The King promised, sighing when he felt Ian's thick head pressing against his ready  
hole.

"Told me not to forget who's the King, didn't you?" Ian questioned, slowly inching himself into  
Mickey, relishing the feeling of his tight walls contracting around his cock.

"Mmm goddamn," Mickey moaned, distracted by the fullness of Ian being halfway inside him.

"Didn't you?" The redhead repeated, pulling to just his tip, causing Mickey to whine from the loss.

"I did," He croaked, voice pleading with need.

"Who's your fucking King, Mick?" Ian asked, hunching over his back so he could reach around  
and clasp his fingers around the front of his neck.

"You're my King, baby," Mickey crooned, rolling his ass back, attempting to pull in more of his  
man's cock. He let out a pleasured cry when Ian snapped his hips hard and immediately plunged  
to the hilt, "Fuck." He closed his eyes as a big hand squeezed his neck and a huge cock pounded  
his ass mercilessly.

"Say it again," Ian demanded as he drilled into Mickey's prostate, determined to make him cum  
after only a few more thrusts, wanting him to know who had control of his body.

"You're my fucking King, Ian. You're my King," He panted, feeling his legs and arms begin to  
wobble and quake. Before he realized what was happening he was screaming and twitching  
through his orgasm, covering the bedspread with his release. Streams of cum filled his ass as he  
tried to catch his breath.

"Remember that." Ian stated, loosening his grip on his lover's neck and craning around to press a  
sweet kiss against his lips.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mickey was sure he’d never tire of waking up with Ian’s lanky limbs wrapped around him. Before  
his boyfriend, he’d never been much of a ‘cuddler.’ Perhaps it was because his mother died when  
he was young or the fact that his father was a complete asshole, but physical affection wasn’t  
something he’d ever been comfortable with. Regardless of how strange it should’ve been to him to  
hold, and be held by another man, it felt incredibly natural to embrace Ian and instinctual to love  
him.

Fuck, he loved him. He’d fallen as hard as he had fast. Resting his hand on his boyfriend’s cheek,  
he wondered when it happened. It seemed that as soon as his eyes had fixed on Ian several weeks  
ago, he’d already been deeply in love with him. He vaguely remembered his Astrologer  
yammering on about past lives the last time he’d done a chart for him, but he hadn’t thought too  
much of it at the time. He never used to put stock in the stars, but as he used his fingertip to trace  
constellations between his lover’s freckles, he thought he may start.

“What’re you doing?” Ian crooned quietly, a smile spreading across his lips as his eyes fluttered  
open.

“Stupid shit,” Mickey replied grinning back at him, “Did you sleep alright, Your Grace?”

The redhead’s face flushed pink at the memory of his words the night before. He quickly pulled a  
pillow over his head and giggled into it with embarrassment.

“Aww shit, suddenly you’re shy again?” Mickey teased as he tickled his boyfriend under the  
arms, “Fuck me like a beast then blush like a bitch.”

“Stad, stad, stop, stop,” Ian pleaded between bouts of hearty laughter, letting go of the pillow as  
he tried so push the King off of him.

“Ticklish, huh?” Mickey smirked, sitting on Ian’s hips to hold him place as his fingers continued  
to dance over warm skin, “So ticklish, now I know how to get to you. Tickle torture.”

The hysterical man reached up to grab at Mickey’s dick, prompting the brunet to take his hands  
off of him so he could guard his junk.

“Hey, hey. Watch the family jewels, man.”

Ian used the opportunity to loop his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and toss him down onto the  
plush bed so he was hovering over him. They looked at each other softly, the laughter that had  
painted their faces moments before giving way to expressions of tender adoration. The redhead  
licked his lips in preparation, wanting to verbalize the feelings that were surging through him as he  
held Mickey. “Is breá liom tú,” He whispered, his body naked and his heart raw, “I love you.”

Mickey swallowed hard as Ian’s eyes searched his, very transparently hoping to hear the sentiment  
returned. As his blues got lost in a field of green, he tried to remember if those words had ever  
been uttered to him. Fragmented words from his mother crackled through his mind. Not since her.

“I love you.”

Their kiss was teeming with emotion, lips and tongues eager to display their devotion; swirling  
and sucking sensually as hands explored the curves and dips of their bodies. When Ian pushed  
into Mickey, the brunet dropped his head back on the pillow, lips falling off of his lover’s,  
moaning at the fullness. A panting mouth pressed against his shoulder as their bodies melted  
together. The formally raucous room was hushed, save the low groans and breathy pants that were  
sinking into skin. They sought what they needed; a physical manifestation of the phrase that had  
felt so right to say.

“Mo fhear álainn," Ian crooned, cradling his hands on either side of brunet's face and gazing at  
him amorously as he approached his climax.

Mickey stared up into his boyfriend's earnest eyes, loving how his cock was stretching his walls as  
it throbbed and swelled inside him. "Fill me up," He urged, waving Ian towards him so he'd give  
him a kiss. Their tongues tangled as they unraveled through their orgasms. They relished in the  
heat of their release; warmth flowing through their bodies and spreading across skin.  
Ian rolled off of him, reaching to intertwine their fingers as means to keep them connected while  
they cooled their bodies down. He brought tattooed knuckles to his lips and delivered a sweet kiss  
to each one. "Only me, right?" He asked shyly, "For you?"

"Only you," Mickey promised, "How could you think I'd ever wanna be with her? Be with  
anyone but you? You're under my skin man, the fuck can I do, hm?"

This time, Ian didn't try to hide the blush that crept across his cheeks, "What're you gonna do  
about her?"

"Telling the council today that I ain't gonna marry her. Gave me enough fucking reasons. Nobody  
can say shit about it."

Ian couldn't hold back his huge grin.

"Looking pretty smug over there, Gallagher," Mickey teased, with a smile of his own.

"Slán" Ian said in a sing-songy voice.

"Not gonna be sad to see her go then?" The King joked, earning him a eye roll from his  
boyfriend.

"There'll be another one."

"Probably a few," Mickey confirmed, "and one of 'em will stay. No way around it."

"I know," Ian replied sadly, seeing the same emotion on the King's face.

"You gotta do better than you did this time, man," He stated, squeezing Ian's hand reassuringly, "I  
know it was tough, but they're not all gonna be as dumb as she is."

Ian nodded, "I'll be better. Just fucking sucks." He paused, resting his hand on Mickey's cheek,  
"Know it's worse for you, Mick. I'm sorry."

"I can deal with it. It isn't ideal, y'know, but it's not like I didn't know it was coming." He cleared  
his throat and sniffed uncomfortably.

"What's up?" Ian asked nervously, propping himself up on his elbow.

Mickey nudged the side of his nose with the pad of his index finger, "It's worse for me when  
you're fucking around with girls in front of me. Trying to get me jealous, worked up or some shit."

He cleared his throat again, "Cause you'll get a reaction, every fucking time, Ian and that shit can  
get dangerous."

"Are you threatening me?" He questioned, bristling slightly.

"What? Fuck no. You gotta stop with that shit," He chided, "I want give you my words to prove I  
love you, not my fucking head."

Ian cringed at the implications and nodded solemnly, "I get it." He traced his finger over his  
lover's puffy, pink pout, "Got the best lips."

Turning his cheek down, Mickey playfully attempted to bite his boyfriend's finger, drawing a  
laugh out of his mouth. When he couldn't catch the digit he grasped Ian's wrist and kissed his  
palm. "Got the best cock."

"Fuck you're romantic," Ian joked, wrapping his arms around Mickey and cuddling in closer,  
resting his head on the King's broad chest.

"What'd that guy say to you last night?" Mickey asked, rubbing his lover's back soothingly.  
"Who?"

"Fucking dumb looking blond motherfucker."

"Gregory?"

"If I knew his name I woulda said it," The King replied with a click of his tongue.

Ian tilted his head up a bit and looked at his boyfriend skeptically, "I think he was kidding."

"Kidding about what?"

"I don't know. Just stupid stuff. He was pretty drunk, so he was you know, making jokes."

"Did you all of a sudden become fucking incapable of answering a question?" Mickey asked  
raising his eyebrows, perturbed, "Cause it seems like you did."

"He told me he's into sucking dick if I'm into having my dick sucked."

Mickey's pursed his lips and stared straight ahead at the drapes hanging off the posts of his bed for  
an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he spoke: "So he offered to suck my cock?"

"Uh, no.. my cock," Ian corrected.

"Right, that's what I said. My cock," He repeated, rolling his tongue under his bottom lip.

"Oh. Um, yeah," He said cautiously, "but I think he was fucking around." The fire behind  
Mickey's eyes was unmistakable and it sent chills down his spine.

"Was already gonna take care of him, but now I'm gonna make sure the blade is dull."

"You're not serious are you?" Ian questioned, his expression somewhere between disbelief and  
denial. He hadn't forgotten that the King had a reputation for being violent and impetuous, but  
he'd never seen that side of him. Mickey was gentle and caring, patient and kind.

"Do I look fucking serious?" He did.

"Mick, you can't..." Ian began, but was cut off by Mickey's forefinger and thumb holding his lips  
together.

"Shh," He hushed. The redhead looked at him with surprise in his eyes, "I give a shit about what  
you say. But sometimes, Gallagher, even with you, I'm still the King."

Ian nodded slowly, exhaling when Mickey removed his fingers.

"Today's a good day," He said, gently raking his fingers through soft red hair, "Let's keep it that  
way. Don't wanna fight about dumb shit."

Ian wanted to protest, plead with him, tell him that somebody's life wasn't insignificant, but he  
held his tongue in hopes that his boyfriend was overreacting and would calm down with time. He  
sighed as Mickey climbed on top of him and began to pepper his collarbone with kisses.

"You ready to go again or d'you need some time?" He asked dropping his hand between Ian's legs  
and fondling his cock. He smirked and looked up at him as he felt him stiffen under his touch,  
"Shit's got me anxious. Gotta fuck."

"Take what you need," Ian urged with a grin, resting his hands behind his head as he watched his  
insanely hot boyfriend position himself on his dick. Any concerns that had crossed his mind  
regarding Gregory, the Princess, and Princesses of the future drifted away as Mickey bounced on  
his cock. He was unsure why he was compelled to fight for control so often when it felt so good  
to loosen his grip and let the King rule.

Chapter Twenty-Six

To Mickey, Privy Council meetings were a strange form of torture. He wasn't interested in hearing  
the opinions of a bunch of old school motherfuckers, who seemed to want to share their thoughts  
on everything. Though they tried to be discreet, the looks they shot each other when Mickey  
spoke were not lost on him. Though they all hated his father, they showed Theodore a greater  
level of respect than they gave to Mickey mostly due to his age and the fact that many of the  
nobleman who sat on the council grew up with him.

Mickey found their ideas antiquated and hated that he had to pretend he'd at least take them under  
consideration. When he was younger, he'd idealistically believed that the King had some sort of  
supreme power and when he was finally King he could do badass things like demand everyone  
eat sweetmeats for dinner and stay up all night. The realization that it was a dream rather than  
reality was, initially, was very hard to take. The lack of control that he actually had as King was  
off putting to say the least. It wasn't as though he'd had the choice whether he wanted to be the  
King or not, after all, he was born the his position. If he had been able to choose, he would've  
been born a peasant who could live his life in a countryside cottage being madly in love with Ian.  
Without eyes on them, things would be simpler in so many ways. It felt too daunting to even  
consider what the coming years would bring for them. As much as he desired to spend them with  
Ian, he knew the idea was impractical to say the least.

Still, he didn't foresee a day where he would resign himself to say goodbye to him; even the  
thought was inconceivable. If as King he possessed any absolute power without ramification, he'd  
make it so he could marry whomever he pleased, the necessity to produce an heir eradicated.  
Unfortunately, to his family, the illusion of power was more important than riches, so passing  
down blue blood to the next generation was paramount.

By the time the King entered the meeting room, the council was already seated around the table  
arguing about some inane bullshit Mickey was sure he didn't care about in the least. They quickly  
rose to their feet to bow to him and waited until he took his seat at the head table to sit back down.

"Your Grace," Lord Barkley began, in a rushed and apologetic tone, "We didn't begin without  
you. We were simply discussing the jousting match for this weekend."

"Yeah, alright. Whatever," Mickey replied, completely nonplussed. He leaned back in his chair  
and rested his feet on the table. He watched with slight satisfaction as the men at the table shifted  
uncomfortably. He would've thought they'd be used to it by now, since it was the way he liked to  
sit at every meeting, but as usual it got their britches in a bunch. He idly wondered what it would  
be like to have the stamina to get irritated about the smallest things. It seemed exhausting. His eyes  
locked with Thomas' and he gave his best friend a shit eating grin. "Looking good today,  
Thomas," he said sarcastically, noticing the bags under his eyes and the green hue on his skin,

"Too much mead last night?"

He watched as Thomas pursed his lips, clearly attempting to hold himself back from telling  
Mickey to fuck off in front of the council, "Too much of something," He replied finally, drawing a  
few confused looks and a couple stifled coughs from the other men at the table.

"Shall we begin?" Charles asked, eager to change the subject and get the meeting underway.  
Mickey waved his hand to indicate that they could get started, "Well, the first matter on our  
agenda is the possible alliance with Spain. After spending the last several days with Her Grace,  
Princess Isabella, have you come to a decision regarding the prospect of a marriage proposal?"

"Mmm," Mickey nodded, "Yeah, that ain't gonna fucking happen."

"Care to elaborate, Your Grace?" Sully pressed, looking at his cousin skeptically.

"She's a whore," He said simply, "I'm not gonna make a fucking whore the Queen of Wales."

Most of the council members looked appalled by both the information and the language that  
accompanied it.

"Perhaps if she was Russian..." Sully muttered, thinking the King was too busy fielding questions  
from the other men to hear him. Mickey laughed internally at the statement, wondering if Charles  
gave his son the details of how he got the information that he was in love with Svetlana. He was  
pretty sure his uncle gave Sully the abbreviated version that didn't include the part where a  
prostitute sucking his dick. It didn't faze him that they thought he felt that way about Svetlana.  
Man, was she smart! Anything that took the attention off of his proclivities was fine by him.

"Pardon me for asking," Charles began, "But was she wanton enough to fornicate with you?" He  
cleared his throat, "Was it her who left those marks on your neck?"

Mickey instinctively brought his hand up to cover the hickeys Ian had sucked into his skin the  
night before, "Uh yeah... Like I said, she's fucking loose." As much as he loved how lustful and  
overwhelming Ian was in the bedroom, he'd have to talk to him about not leaving as many marks  
where they'd be visible to others. Everyone knew the King fucked around, but they didn't need to  
have the evidence staring them in the face.

His mind suddenly wandered back to the bedroom. They spent more time fucking than sleeping  
and he was still left wanting more. Nobody had ever been able to turn him out like Ian. A big dick  
was useless if the guy didn't know how to use it and his boyfriend definitely had skills. He felt his  
hard on straining against his pants and adjusted himself to relieve the pressure. Suddenly, he is as  
incredibly aggravated that he was stuck at this meeting and would need to attend to other  
obligations before he could see Ian later that night. He chided himself for being so soft as to miss  
someone who he had left just a short time before.

His thoughts were interrupted by Charles scoffing. "Despicable. You'd think she would have been  
brought up with more class and dignity." He shook his head in disgust, "Moving on to our next  
agenda item..."

For the next hour they discussed domestic affairs; everything from crop outlook to the plague that  
was impacting many in the west. When the conversation shifted to foreign affairs, Mickey  
prepared himself for the onslaught of suggestions regarding which Princess or Queen he should  
have visit next. He was surprised when the topic didn't come up. Instead the focus seemed to be  
on the conquering of land.

"I'm just saying," Lord Barkley continued his attempt convince the others see it his way, "I do not  
think it makes us weak because we do not have extensive land holdings. We need to focus on our  
issues at home before we expand our reach."

"But taking the Isle of Man would demonstrate to our neighbors that we are a country to be both  
feared and revered," Thomas disagreed, "England doesn't have enough of an army there to resist  
and by the time they brought more men there, we would already have established a strong hold.  
We need to get there before Ireland or Scotland. It's a sitting duck in the middle of the sea we all  
share. We just need to take it. Your Grace, what are your thoughts?"

"We gotta lay our dick out on the table and show everyone how big it is," Mickey stated matter-of-factly.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that? Many have attempted to take the island and all have  
failed," Sully stated in a tone that Mickey didn't much appreciate.

"We just need a better plan than they had," He replied simply, pulling his dagger out of its holder  
and beginning to trace his tattoos with the tip, "I got some ideas."

"Pray tell, Your Grace," Charles urged, earning him a dirty look from the King, who was  
obviously completely over the meeting.

"We'll discuss it on Thursday. I have to say goodbye to the skanky Princess in a few minutes and  
make sure an execution is underway. I'm not going to get into fucking war strategy in such a  
rushed way. Later." With that, Mickey stood up and all the other men scrambled to do the same,  
bowing to the King before he exited the room.

Thomas rushed to catch up with him as he stalked down the hallway, "Fuck yeah we're gonna do  
this," He whispered excitedly, causing Mickey to laugh.

"Pretty badass, right?" He replied, waggling his eyebrows, "Get in there, take what we fucking  
want. Show the rest of the countries we're a force to reckon with. Theodore was too much of a  
pussy, but you know I'm not."

"Don't even fucking like pussy," Thomas joked quietly, knocking his elbow into the King's arm.

"Dick all the way," Mickey confirmed with a smirk, "Act like a dick, take a dick. Act like a pussy,  
take a pussy."

"That's..." Thomas paused for affect, while cracking a huge smile, "really fucking deep. You ever  
thought of becoming a philosopher?"

"Nah, I'm thinking warlord is more my speed."

"I'm down with that," Thomas said, slapping on the back companionably.

"You fuck her last night?" Mickey asked, looking over his friend, "That why you look so beat?"

"Drank too much and then fucked her filthy. Couldn't even finish, got whiskey dick so bad, man."

The King broke into loud laughter that echoed and bounced around the high ceilings. "That  
fucking sucks. He can always get it up. We get high as fuck and he's still ready to fucking pound  
it."

"Good to know," Thomas huffed, "Doesn't make me any less of a man."

"I mean..." The King grimaced a bit before over dramatically coming to a halt and resting his hand  
on his best friend's shoulder, "It kinda does."

"Fuck off," Thomas laughed giving him a hard shove. When he saw an older Lord bow and then  
walk past them with a perplexed look on his face, he brushed off the front of Mickey's doublet.

"Wish I could. Gotta go face your fuckbuddy one last time, watch some heads roll and then I'm  
gonna do a whole lotta fucking off."

"No aphrodisiac like a good beheading," Thomas said sarcastically.

"With a dull sword. You told them that right?" Mickey ensured.

"Yes, Your Psycho. I did."

"Good. Offer him head, lose your head. That's the way it's gonna go."

"You're too much sometimes, you know that?"

Mickey shrugged, nonplussed, "You're the one wetting yourself about invading the Isle of Man."

"It's different," Thomas protested.

"Not really though. Different circumstances, same result. See you there?"

"I guess."

"Perk up, asshole," Mickey directed, pinching his cheek, "I know you fuck 'em but pussy don't  
look good on you."

"Dick doesn't look good on you," Thomas retorted.

"Yes it fucking does," Mickey laughed, walking backward towards the courtyard, "Look at this  
smile, man. It's gorgeous!"

Thomas just shook his head and chuckled as his very happy best friend made his way to the shore  
to say goodbye to a problem.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ian followed slightly behind Lip and Francis as they walked to the Tower green. As reluctant as  
he was to attend the execution, he knew that it would look strange to many if he didn’t show.  
After all, executions were considered to be a form of entertainment that, luckily, was not available  
for viewing very often.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda barbaric that we’re going to watch someone get murdered? Think  
about it. It’s sick!” He stated, kicking a rock along with him.

“It’s not murder,” Francis corrected him, “It’s punishment. You do something shitty and you risk  
getting the choppy choppy.”

“Why haven’t you gotten that huge fucking noggin knocked off then?” Lip questioned, taking a  
hit off his cannabis. “You do shitty things all the time.”

“First of all, I’m a lucky bastard. I have no idea who smiles down upon me, but whoever it is has  
an amazing sense of humor. For that, I am blessed. Second, your definition of shitty, may not be  
mine, right? For example, to some people fornicating prior to marriage is a sin just as egregious as  
murder. You, my dear son, are a dirty little fornicator. You, of course, wouldn’t believe that this is  
as abominable as stabbing someone in the heart, but some others may disagree,” Francis rambled,  
gesticulating as he droned on.

“Nobody thinks that fucking is a more of a sin than murder,” Lip disagreed, “You’re so full of  
shit. If you ever even attempted to make a point that made sense once in a while, people would be  
more willing to listen to you.”

“Again perspective. You’re a stubborn dickhead, so you don’t think that I make any sense. You  
don’t want to open your eyes and look at the truth. You don’t want to twist your mind into seeing  
someone else’s views. You remind me of myself,” Francis tsked, “The only difference is, you  
don’t hold the correct opinions like I do. When you’re correct, you don’t have to take anyone  
else’s views under consideration. You happen to be wrong, so you should think about trying to.”

Lip rolled his eyes and passed the joint to Ian before telling his father to “Fuck off, man.”

“Here’s another example: Sodomites,” Francis continued, ignoring Lip’s demand, “You can fuck  
a vagina and some people won’t look at it as a shameful sin, but fuck an asshole and you’re a  
heretic. They’re both holes, right? But some people have villainized the anus into being a more  
sinful entry. What’s that about?”

“Can you guys shut the fuck up? Honestly, I already have a headache and you’re making it  
worse,” Ian groused, grudgingly handing the weed back to his brother when he held his hand out  
to take it.

“I’m just saying, it’s not murder. Don’t think of it that way. Whatever Gregory did to get his ass  
into his predicament was deemed by the King as shitty enough to get his head cut off.  
Punishment,” Francis reiterated, ignoring Ian’s pleas for silence.

Ian rubbed his forehead and sighed, blaming himself for telling Mickey the truth when he’d asked  
him what Gregory had said. He never thought that his boyfriend would have the other man  
executed. If he had believed it was a possibility, he never would have repeated it. It was difficult  
to come to terms with the concept that hitting on him was now a death sentence. It made him want  
to curl up into a ball and not speak to anyone, for fear that Mickey would take it the wrong way  
and kill them, too.

Though Francis was a mostly an idiot, his point about perspective resonated with Ian. Maybe he  
had to attempt to put himself in Mickey’s shoes. He wanted to believe that if had the power to  
punish someone that hit on Mickey, he wouldn’t exercise it. As he tried to convince himself that  
he would be different, visions of Princess Isabella touching the King flashed into his mind and that  
same anger that overtook him a few days ago came flooding back. He wondered if he wasn’t as  
far above the brutality as he tricked himself into presuming he was. When Lip handed the joint  
back to him he inhaled and held it in so tight that he could feel the smoke burning his lungs. If he  
was going to watch a man lose his head for having some sort of affection for him, he was going to  
have to be out of his.

By the time they reached the Tower green it was crowded with eager onlookers, all trying to get  
closer to the platform. It seemed that the whole castle had been emptied into the prison’s  
courtyard. Ian shook his head at the sight of Mary perched on Henry’s shoulders. The thought of  
her seeing the savagery made him feel physically ill; his stomach flipping and sour as he looked at  
her cherubic face. When their eyes met, she waved excitedly at him and he gave her a small nod  
back while swallowing down the bile that was rising up in his throat.

“C’mon,” Lip urged, pushing his way forward, “Let’s get up there.”

“I’ll stay back here,” Ian protested, leaning against a stone wall, feeling as though he needed the  
support to keep him upright.

People continued to fill in the space, leaving very little breathing room. Two drunken men were  
now standing on either side of Ian, their putrid smell making him feel more ill than he had  
moments earlier. When Lord Barkley announced the King and Princess, he dutifully bowed his  
head, not wanting to look up, needing to avoid his boyfriend’s eyes. He waited until he was sure  
that every person had stood up straight, hoping he could go unseen, cursing his height and the  
shock of his hair when he instantly met the King’s gaze. He looked away quickly, head turned  
towards where Mary was being held, desperate to get lost in her innocence.

A booming voice announced the prisoner and a woman shrieked, “No!” as Gregory was escorted  
onto the platform. The wailing of a mother followed, “My baby, my son!” Her cries were  
drowned out by the booing of and jeering of the crowd towards the prisoner.

“Oh he’s wasted,” The man to the right of Ian observed. Surprised that they’d let Gregory drink  
before the beheading, Ian turned his face so he was looking at the platform. The blond knight was  
shaking violently, urine wetting the crotch of his pants as a huge man, shroud in black stumbled  
next to him. Ian felt a tears prickle in his eyes when he realized that Executioner was completely  
inebriated.

“He must’ve really fucked up bad for the King to get the Headsman pissed,” The other man  
chimed in, “I’d be surprised if he can even see straight.”

“This’ll be a blood bath.”

The crowd murmured and buzzed at the sight of the drunken man wielding the sword. Ian focused  
on his boyfriend’s profile, trying to read his expression, but found nothing but stone.

“Sir Gregory Clancy, you have been sentenced to death for an act of treason against your King,”  
A man projected loudly so he could be heard over the mumblings of the crowd, “You may now  
make your final statement before you leave this Earth.”

Gregory’s hands trembled in their shackles as he began to speak, “Good Christian people. I come  
here to die, because according to the law, I am judged to die, therefore, I will speak nothing  
against it. I pray that God save the king and long may he reign over you, for a gentler and more  
merciful man there never was. I take my leave from the world now, asking you to pray for me.  
May the lord have mercy on me and to God I commend my soul.”

Ian watched as he lowered himself down to his hands and knees so his head was resting on the  
blood stained block.

“Turn your head to the left,” The burly man with the masked face demanded, voice husky and  
deep.

Gregory did as he was told, tears streaming off his cheeks onto the wood below him. His mother’s  
cries had become inconsolable, drilling into Ian’s ear, causing his heart to pound like a war drum.

“When I lift my sword, take a deep breath and hold it,” The Executioner directed, stumbling  
slightly as he unsheathed his sword.

The blond knight began to repeatedly chant, “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul, Lord Jesus,  
receive my soul. To Jesus Christ I comment my soul, Lord Jesus receive my soul.”  
When the Executioner hoisted up his weapon, Ian squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch. He  
could still hear Gregory praying, clearly not taking the Executioner’s advice to hold his breath.  
The first whack sounded like a bag of flour dropping to the ground and drew a disgusted groan  
from the crowd.

“That was his back!” Someone cried, the repulsion evident in their voice.

“Get someone else to do it! He’s too pissed!” Another person screeched.

Another thump was followed by cries of horror.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen,” The man to the left of Ian whispered, “Holy shit, he’s going to  
cut him in half at the shoulder blades.”

“Somebody should have drawn a bullseye on his neck,” The other man agreed, “This is a  
butchery. You gotta weak stomach?” He asked nudging Ian, “Can’t bear to watch.”  
Ian nodded wordlessly; opening his eyes for long enough to look to the side and see how difficult  
it would be for him to exit, resigning to the impossibility. He inhaled and rested his cheek against  
the cold stone, hoping it would help abate his nausea. He counted eight more whacks before he  
heard a dull thud and the man beside him say, “Finally.”

“If his punishment is any indication of his crime, it seems he will burn in hell rather than finding  
redemption in heaven.”

Throughout his life, there had only been a few times when Ian had wished he’d been a godly man.  
There were moments when he couldn’t find solace within himself and needed to believe there was  
something greater out there; that everything made sense as a part of the bigger picture that he  
wasn’t privy to. The crowd of people that surrounded him seemed to mostly move past the  
execution before they’d even exited the courtyard. He wondered if he hadn’t been involved in  
some way, he would be as callous, too. He’d hoped not, but feared so.

By the time he opened his eyes, the body was removed and only a few people remained in the  
space. “You ready to go?” Lip asked as he and Francis approached.

“Wait for me outside,” He responded, waiting until they left to make his way up towards the  
platform. He dropped his head and muttered ‘I’m sorry’ dipping his finger into the blood so he  
could draw a cross on the wood.

As he walked out of space, he prayed, “A Thiarna shábháil a anam,” attempting to come to terms  
with the fact that his appeal was for his boyfriend, rather than his victim and then for himself, “A  
Thiarna shábháil m'anam”

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Typically when Ian walked through his chamber door they would embrace, kissing hungrily to  
make up for the time they’d spent apart. Smile pressed against smile and hand intertwined with  
hand, they'd catch up on their day, stealing as many pecks and touches as possible throughout  
their conversation. It wouldn't take long until they started fucking, needing to feel the heat of the  
other man's body, desperate for the connection. His day had been long with the council meeting, a  
not so fond farewell to the Princess, and the execution. Hours away from Ian had felt like days.  
He craved him.

As soon as the redhead entered his room, Mickey rushed to hold him, surprised when his  
boyfriend slid through his arms and down to his knees, weeping. He folded in on himself, face  
buried in his hands as he wailed.

"What the... Ian? What's wrong?" He asked frantically, squatting down to wrap his arms around  
him. Every gasping inhale caused Ian's body to tremor through heavy emotions, while the King  
held him tight, trying to anchor him, "What happened, baby? Fucking talk to me!" He could feel  
anger bubbling below his skin. Whoever had fucked with his boyfriend was in for it. He had no  
patience for anyone hurting him. After all, as far as Mickey was concerned, Ian had endured too  
much pain in Wales thus far. "Baby? C'mon," He urged, "Tell me what's wrong."

Too lost in his pain, it took Ian a moment to comprehend that the King’s arms were around him.  
When he realized, he broke away, crawling backwards towards the door. His face was stained  
with tears he’d been crying for the last several hours. “Ollphéist,” he accused, wiping his leaking  
eyes with the arm of chemise and glaring at the perplexed man kneeling across form him,  
“Ollphéist.”

“I don’t know…” He began, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to understand  
what had happened, what he’d done that caused Ian to cringe at his touch, “… what that means.”

“Monster,” Ian whispered, shaking his head with disgust, “It means, monster.”

They stared at each other disconcerted, both searching for apperception that they were unable to  
find. Ian attempted to calm himself down by measuredly slowing his breath and licking his dry  
lips. He was taken aback to see that a baffled look remained on the King’s face, as if the brunet  
couldn’t grasp his reaction. Sitting on the floor, Mickey looked so much smaller and more fragile  
than he had earlier that day when he presided over the murder of an innocent man. “What did I  
do?” He asked softly, “I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way.”

“Are you serious?” Ian snapped, his red eyes wide.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” Mickey shot back, becoming irritated by his boyfriend’s vagueness.

“I got rid of Isabella, she’s fucking off back to Spain. Thought you’d be happy, that we’d  
celebrate. She’s gone! Are you never fucking happy, Ian? Tell me. Is anything ever enough for  
you?”

“You had a man chopped up by a drunken executioner today.” He balked at the King’s lack of  
humanity, “Did you already forget? Butchered in front of his crying mother.”

“Oh, that.”

“Oh that?!” Ian exclaimed, his mouth dropping open, “Oh that? Like it’s no big deal?”

“Ain’t a big deal,” He replied, narrowing his eyes at Ian, “You gonna pretend your King doesn’t  
execute people? I know for a fact that motherfucker can be brutal.”

“He doesn’t execute innocent people,” Ian argued, unable to believe that they were having this  
conversation.

“Yeah? How d’you know?” Mickey challenged, lifting his eyebrows, “He says the person is  
guilty, so they’re guilty. Works the same way everywhere. You just want to fucking believe  
what’s the easiest to digest,” He stated, “And who said that fucker was innocent, huh? He  
disrespected you.”

“You were jealous!” Ian yelled, tears beginning to fall again from both upset and frustration,  
“Don’t twist this around into some valiant act. It was cowardly! You didn’t wanna see him, so you  
made him disappear.”

“And?” He asked, staring blankly at him.

“And that’s fucked up!” He barked, standing up and starting to pace the room, head continuing to  
shake in disbelief, “Ní féidir liom breathnú ar fiú tú.”

“Hmm?” He rose to feet, attempting to approach Ian.

“I can’t even look at you!” He spat, cheeks flushed with fury as he turned to face him.

“I mean, you are… looking at me, right now… you’re looking at me,” The King pointed out,  
rolling his tongue under his bottom lip, “So you can. Cause you fucking are, huh?”

Ian stood like a statue, frozen by his boyfriend’s blasé attitude and his own emotions.

“Still looking.” He mentioned, thumbing the side of his nostril.

The redhead surprised both the King and himself when he broke into hysterics, holding onto his  
side as he laughed and cried. Mickey fought his desire to hold him, not sure his lover would  
accept his touch. Once Ian grew short of breath, he took several deep inhales and chided, “You’re  
fucking crazy, you know that? That’s the only explanation.”

“For what? Having him killed?” Mickey attempted to clarify, “That doesn’t make me crazy. That  
makes me the fucking King.”

“That makes you a monster, not a King,” Ian disagreed, walking towards the windows. He pulled  
the heavy, red curtain to the side and stared into the blackness beyond the glass.

“A monster you love,” He reminded him, drawing a gasp from the redhead’s mouth when he  
grabbed his wrist hard, “What’s that make you then? Hmm?”

“I didn’t know…. I never thought…” Ian stuttered, as Mickey pressed his lips against each of his  
fingertips.

“Bullshit,” The brunet tisked, “You started off fearing me for a fucking reason. You knew what  
you were getting into, Ian. Don’t kid yourself. Just cause you make me soft, don’t make me soft.”

He bit his middle finger gently, “These fingertips…”

“What about them?” He questioned, feeling his heart begin to race.

“They never touched power, until they touched me,” He said, reasoning with himself as much as  
he was with Ian. “You don’t understand it. I can’t expect you to.”

“Explain it to me then,” He urged expectantly, “Make me understand how you can murder  
someone who did nothing to deserve it.”

“He wasn’t long for this world, man. I’ve seen handfuls of guys like him. They never make it.”

“Because you had them all killed, right? That’s why they don’t make it?”

Mickey shrugged, “Listen. I’ve done what I’ve had to do. I ain’t ashamed of that. This fucker…”

“Gregory,” Ian corrected him with pursed lips, “At least show some goddamn respect for the  
dead.”

“Gregory,” The King repeated clearing his throat, “He’s going around asking men to suck their  
cocks. How long do you think it would’ve been before he propositioned the wrong guy and they  
came to me for justice? Hmm? And what am I supposed to do then? Go easy on him? Be lenient?  
What would people think then? An unwed King who doesn’t punish sodomizers to the full extent  
of the law, what would they think?” He dropped Ian’s wrist, “Would you approach a guy and ask  
him to suck his dick?”

“Of course not,” Ian replied with a sigh.

“Why not?”

The redhead was reluctant to say the words aloud, but did, “Cause it could get me killed.” He bit  
his lip, “I still don’t think it’s fair.”

“You want me to start some sorta revolution, Ian? For what? Huh? So we can hang?” Mickey  
pushed, “Don’t act like an idiot, alright? You know the way this world works. What people think  
about men like us…”

“So it had nothing to do with the fact that it was me that he was offering head to?” Ian asked with  
an unconvinced look on his face.

“Are you fucking kidding? Of course it had to do with the fact that it was you,” The King huffed,

“But if it wasn’t, it would’ve been fucking Thomas or Lip, some other dude. Same outcome,  
different time. This just made you feel guilty.”

“And you don’t feel guilty?” His boyfriend, “This doesn’t impact you at all?”

Mickey shook his head, “I don’t and it doesn’t.” He sat down on the end of his bed and gestured  
for Ian to sit next to him, but the redhead refused. “Whatever, fucking stand,” He sighed, rolling  
his eyes, “This has always been my life. Watched Theodore order people dead and his father  
before him. Those fuckers killed people for making their soup too hot and their bath water too  
cold. People fuck up, you punish them. It’s how you keep shit working. It’s how you remind  
people they should fear you.”

“Why would you want to be feared?” Ian asked, “Why wouldn’t you want to be loved?”

“Fear is the only way to keep people in line. Love doesn’t fucking do it, look at you right now.  
Do you respect me because you love me? If people don’t fear you, they overthrow you, then you  
end up being the one that’s fucking scared. That ain’t gonna be me. I’ll be a fool for you, but I’m  
not gonna be a fool for the rest of them,” He said, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“How many people have you had executed?”

“You don’t wanna know,” The King assured him, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously,

“Thought you understood this kinda shit. Honestly, if I knew it was gonna get to you like this I  
would’ve waited to have him killed until after the next dumb shit he did.”

“Think he would’ve done some other stupid thing?” Ian questioned softly, his eyes meeting  
Mickey’s.

The brunet nodded, “He would’ve. Not gonna pretend like I didn’t get some satisfaction that he  
went down for shit he did to you, though. You can call me a monster all you fucking want, but  
I’m not gonna lie about it. Don’t change the fact that it would’ve happened regardless.”

“I just…” He inhaled deeply and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I don’t want to see you  
differently.”

“So don’t,” He said simply. “I’m the same person I was before. This wasn’t my first time and it’s  
not gonna be my last. Maybe seeing it will change you…” He stood up and moved towards Ian,  
“but I hope not, cause I fucking love you.” He looped an arm around Ian’s narrow waist, relieved  
that the redhead allowed it, “Can I kiss you?” He asked, bringing his fingers up to Ian’s chin to tilt  
it down.

The taller man licked his lips and leaned in a bit, an invitation. The kiss was slow and sweet, a  
contrast from the sadness and anger that had permeated the rest of their conversation.

“Want you,” Mickey breathed into his mouth, “Missed you.” He began to untie Ian’s pants, but  
the other man knocked his hands away and pulled back, shaking his head.

“I can’t. Not tonight,” He sounded partially apologetic, but mostly numb.

“You done with me? Hmm? That your kiss goodbye?” He tried to hide the fear that was clenching  
his heart at the thought of losing Ian.

“No,” He promised, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze before retreating to the door, “I just  
need to get my mind right, okay? Think about what you said.”

“Whatever,” Mickey shrugged, “Tell Thomas or Henry when you wanna see me again. I ain’t  
gonna chase you around.”

Ian bit his lower lip, nodded and exited the room, leaving the King sniffing behind him.

“You won’t be staying overnight tonight?” Henry questioned, quickly standing up straight at the  
sight of Ian. He attempted to pull the cotton balls out of his ears discreetly.

Ian shook his head, “No.”

They walked most of the way back to the courtyard in silence, though a thought was nagging at  
Ian to escape his lips. “How could you let her see that today?” He finally asked.

“Mary?” Henry stifled a laugh, “She would be upset if she didn’t get to attend. We don’t shield  
children from the realities of society. If we did so, we would have an ignorant population.”  
Not able to think of a response, Ian remained quiet.

“Was this your first time seeing something like that?” Henry ventured.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Well, if I can give you any advice, Sir Gallagher, it would be to remember that your eyes have  
been cloaked but that doesn’t mean that what lays beyond them have changed. Will I be coming  
for you tomorrow or should I expect that we will not be enjoying our little walks together any  
longer?"

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ian replied firmly, feeling like several hours of closed eyes would help  
him see through them clearly once again.

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

The King’s day had been long, with worry and despair eating up most of the daylight hours.  
Though they’d spent most of their time together at night, the sun being high in the sky didn’t stop  
him from feeling the loss of him. On other days, he knew that he had Ian; that his heart was  
lodged in the redhead’s and his lover wasn’t compelled to claw him out. With everything so  
uncertain between them, as the hours fell away, he worried Ian would, too.

The moon rising above the horizon didn’t bring him relief. Any other evening, the expectation  
would be that they’d be together. Questioning if they would was driving Mickey mad. As the  
night dragged on, he tried not to be concerned, forcing himself to ignore the fact that it was past  
the witching hour and Ian still hadn't come to him. He tossed and turned in his bed, wishing he  
was rolling around with his lover instead. Realizing it was nearly impossible to get comfortable  
while he was crawling out of his skin with anxiety; he sat up and rubbed his fingers over his  
eyebrows. He was about to go out to the hallway and ask Henry to call for Svetlana when he  
heard a knock on his door. It was soft enough that he wouldn't have been awakened by it if he'd  
been asleep, which he was sure was precisely the intention.

"Yeah?" Mickey called, trying to hide the hopefulness in his tone. He grabbed his robe from  
beside his bed and quickly slipped it on. He knew it was unlikely to be Ian, especially at that time  
of night. It was undoubtedly a stupid issue that could've waited until the morning, but since his  
chamberlain was aware he was alone for the evening, he probably didn't think twice about  
bothering him. Admittedly, Mickey was secretly salivating at the idea of a possible crisis. If there  
was some sort of major problem it would keep him busy enough to get his mind off Ian. As much  
as he had relished in thoughts of him in the weeks prior, now they were too painful to get lost in. It  
was difficult to cope with the possibility that he wouldn't be able to hold him, touch him, kiss him.  
He wondered if he'd truly pushed him, or if Ian had wanted to slip; either way, at the end of the  
day, he felt too far away.

The door opened with more tentativeness than it typically did when Henry was behind it. As soon  
as Ian entered the room, Mickey jumped off of the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around him,  
“Knew you’d come, knew you’d come.” He breathed a sigh of relief as he buried his face into his  
lover’s neck.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ian said softly, sliding the King’s robe off his shoulder a bit so he could rest his  
forehead on his bare shoulder and inhale the intoxicating scent of his skin.

They held each other for a moment, a journey back home.

When they both lifted their heads, Mickey placed his hands on Ian’s cheeks and looked deep into  
his eyes, “Ain’t gonna lie, was fucking with my mind to think that maybe you wouldn’t, but deep  
down I think I knew you would. Was gonna give it one night, don’t know if I could’ve given it  
more.”

“Until what?” Ian asked, peering down at the King’s full lips while licking his own.

“Till I showed up at your door and tried to figure out a way to make it better or, I don’t know…  
easier for you. Never did this shit before. Guess I would’ve done whatever you needed me to do.”

“Thought you weren’t gonna chase me around,” Ian reminded him, tilting his head in challenge,  
“told me that.”

“Goddamn Gallagher, you alright with me keeping my balls in my sack or do you wanna hold  
‘em both in your pocket for a while? You gotta hear that I would’ve fucking chased you? Hmm?,”

He licked his lip and raised his eyebrows expectantly, “ Want me to tell you what you already  
know?”

Ian closed his eyes and sighed as Mickey’s hand cradled the base of his skull, fingers gently  
raking through red locks.

“Only know me crawling on my knees for you. Not your fault you never saw me stand.

Should’ve never expected you to be used to that,” He said, with a click of his tongue, “I’m not  
sorry I did it, you get what you get, right? But I am sorry that I had a fucking hard ass time  
figuring out that I can stand by what I did and still give a shit about how you felt about it. Guess I  
just…”

“Just what?” Ian prompted, letting go of Mickey as the brunet made his way to the bed. He sat  
down on the end and rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

“Got defensive… scared. May not care what other people think of me, but I care what you do,”

The King admitted, “You calling me a monster for doing shit that I’ve always done got to me,  
man,” He paused as if he was searching for words, “Like, you were so shaken up about it and I  
didn’t feel anything. Still don’t. Maybe that does make me a monster.” He shrugged, “Could be,  
right?”

“No. You’re not. I should’ve never…” Ian shook his head at the weight of the accusation he’d  
made the night before.

“If you don’t think I am, why are you still standing over there, huh?” He questioned, pursing his  
lips, able to both feel and see the distance between them.

The redhead looked at him sadly, as if he hasn’t realized that they were so far apart. He walked to  
the bed and took a seat next to Mickey, markedly resting his hand on the King’s thigh, “I was just  
shocked. This shit isn’t normal to me like it is for you. Couple that with the fact that I felt kinda  
responsible or whatever and I guess it was too much. I lost it.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Mickey confessed quietly, intertwining his fingers with Ian’s, “Tell me  
how to keep you.”

“You have me,” Ian promised, looking at him green eyes earnest, “I’m here.”

The King nodded, forced to accept the answer even though it felt like his boyfriend was a  
thousand miles away, “You staying?”

Ian nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant for the night or for good, but either way, he didn’t  
want to go, “If you want me to. I mean, I’m not really feeling up to, you know, fucking or  
anything.”

“Don’t gotta fuck,” Mickey assured him, stripping off his robe before slowly undressing Ian. He  
pressed soft kisses onto his collarbone and then took his hands, leading him further onto the bed,

“Just wanna hold you.”

They rested their heads on the same pillows, noses touching while their eyes took in every freckle  
on the other man's face. Arms wrapped around waists and feet tucked under legs, making sure that  
there wasn’t any physical space left between them.

“I know that it’s not easy to be with me, but…” The King paused for long enough to nudge his  
nose against Ian’s, “I want it to be worth it for you. I want to be worth it for you.”

“You are,” Ian promised, “I probably shouldn’t have gone. Everyone was acting like it was going  
to be some kinda fucking party.” He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he was trying to  
loosen the memory from his mind and expel it into the air, “It was horrific and hardly anybody  
was fazed. I just don’t understand.”

“Grew up like this, man. Blood pouring onto the block, looks no different than red wine being  
poured into a glass to us. Maybe that makes us savages, I don’t know. Wish I could let you make  
me better, but I can’t fucking afford it. I gotta be the meanest motherfucker in the room or else  
someone else is gonna be and that won’t end well for me.”

“I can’t even…” The redhead bit his lip, tired green eyes wide, “imagine. Don’t wanna think that  
you could ever be the one who would be…”

“All eyes are on me- all the time. I can’t waiver, can’t get soft,” Mickey stated, “They already  
want me gone. Believe me, I could tell you shit that would make your head spin, Ian.”

“About what?” Ian pressed, rubbing his hand up the curve of Mickey’s back, reacquainting with  
the skin he’d spent so many other nights melting in.

“My dad,” He replied clearing his throat, “Some shit surrounding his death that just don’t add up.”

“You think he was murdered?” Ian asked surprised, “By who? Why?”

Mickey sighed and pushed a lock of Ian’s hair off his forehead, “I’m trying to calm you down,  
probably shouldn’t go into my conspiracy theories. Don’t have any evidence anyway.”

“Who would do that?”

“I mean, I could name at least ten people off the top of my head that wanted the fucker dead and  
I’m sure that ain’t even the half of them. But…” He paused as if he was debating whether or not  
he should go there, “I think it was an attempt at usurping by my Uncle.”

“That doesn’t make sense ‘cause you were next in line. Unless…” His mouth dropped open at the  
realization, “You don’t think he’d try to…?”

“Kill me?” Mickey filled in with a wry laugh, “Fuck yes I do. They’re always looking for a reason  
and if they can’t fucking find one, they’ll try it on the sly.”

“What’re we gonna to about this?” Ian asked, panic evident on his face. Mickey could feel his  
boyfriend’s heart racing against his own chest. Instinctively, he began to lightly scratch the small  
of his back, knowing what he needed to soothe him.

“Shhh,” Mickey hummed, kissing Ian gently, letting their lips linger before he continued, “Your  
mind already keeps you busy worrying about shit, you don’t gotta think about this. You said you  
didn’t wanna see me dead and I know how to keep myself alive, alright?” He gave Ian a sad  
smile, “Gotta be the baddest and I fucking am. Just don’t wanna lose you.”

“Well if you’re not, then I could lose you,” Ian said as if he was struck by the realization of the  
weight and gravity that went into every decision Mickey made, “Can’t lose you.” He slotted his  
mouth against his boyfriends; inhaling his exhale, desperate to breathe him in, keep him safe inside  
of him. They kissed until their lips were chapped and then went back to the other for more.

“Don’t wanna be scared that I could make you hate me with an action I need to take,” Mickey  
whispered once they peeled their lips apart.

“Hated the action, but could never hate you,” Ian told him, gazing deep into the puddles of blue  
welling up in front of him, “Love you too much.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, needing to be flooded with confirmation.

“I love you,” Ian promised, “Mo fhear álainn.”

“So you’ll stay?”

“Tonight?”

Mickey shrugged and rested his head against Ian’s chest, hearing the slow, steady beats of his now  
calm heart, “You feel like forever to me.”

Chapter Thirty

Ian smiled when he saw the King approaching. If the brunet hadn't been flanked by Thomas,  
Mandy and Svetlana, he would have had his lips on him as soon as he'd appeared. Over the past  
few days, they'd taken every opportunity that had presented itself to allow their minds and bodies  
to reconnect. With every rotation of their tongues and snap of their hips, they fell deeper, became  
freer.

"Your Grace," Lip greeted, rising to his feet and brushing the dirt off the seat of his pants before  
bowing.

Since Ian had been leaning against a tree, he just dipped his head slightly, knowing if he engaged  
in too dutiful of a bow among apprised company, Mickey would give him shit. He did, however,  
drop lower to the Princess, always aiming to show a high level of respect for his boyfriend’s sister.  
Attempting not to look upon her uncertainly, Ian turned to nod a ‘hello’ to Svetlana. He wasn’t  
used to her joining for their late night gatherings in the woods. She seemed to pick up on his  
skepticism.

“I would not miss the ‘Mickey is Not Getting Married Party.’ If there was ever a reason to  
celebrate, this is it,” She said simply, giving him a smile, “You agree, yes?”

“Mmm,” Ian nodded, licking his lips in a failed effort to hold back the grin that was pulling at  
them. He turned to Mickey as casually as possible, catching the smirk on the King’s face and how  
his eyebrows flicked up suggestively as his eyes traveled down his body. Fuck, he wanted him.

“My favorite virgin,” She teased, pinching Ian’s blushing cheek playfully.

“Virgin?” Thomas scoffed, looking at Ian dubiously as Lip chuckled.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey laughed, opening his flask and handing it to his boyfriend, “Leave him  
the fuck alone. He’s as red as a spanked ass.”

“Really?” Ian chided quietly, earning him a tickle in the side from the King.

“Saying the magic word got you worked up, Gallagher?” He asked with a mischievous glint in his  
blue eyes.

Ian just ignored the statement with a slight tisk of his tongue and sat down so he could light the  
pipe. He noticed his boyfriend had moved closer to him, standing over him protectively with his  
knee knocking intermittently against his shoulder as he talked to his friends. He took a long drag  
of the cannabis, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before tilting his head back and blowing a  
plume up towards Mickey’s face.

The King grinned down at him, biting his bottom lip lasciviously as the redhead undressed him  
with his eyes. The aroma surrounding him made Mickey crave the weed almost as much as he  
was aching for Ian. “Pass that shit,” He directed, squatting down next to him to take a hit, “Flirty  
little fucker tonight, huh?”

“That a problem?” Ian challenged, watching intently as his boyfriend’s puffy pink lips wrapped  
around the mouthpiece of the pipe.

“Fuck,” He breathed as he exhaled the smoke, “Not at all.” He sat down fully when the rest of the  
group joined on the ground, letting out a soft laugh when he felt Ian’s fingers brush against his ass.

“It’s gonna be badass right, Mick?” Thomas asked, belching as the mead he’d just chugged  
sloshed around his stomach.

“Hmm?” Mickey questioned, too busy paying attention to Ian’s body heat next to him to give a  
fuck about the conversation going on around them.

“The Isle of Man! When we snatch that shit... make England our bitch,” Thomas repeated.  
Mickey’s eyes grew wide and he gestured towards Lip, surprised that his typically discreet friend  
would speak easily about Privy Council matters in front a person who the King didn’t have  
complete trust in yet.

“I’m cool,” Lip assured him, aware that attention had shifted to him, “Got a vested interest in shit  
going well for you, right?” He stated, nodding at Ian. He held up his flask, “Team Wales.”  
They cheered Wales and went back to joking, laughter, and general gaiety.

“So if you’re fucking with England, does that mean my trip’s postponed?” Mandy asked  
hopefully, “Can this officially be a ‘Mandy and Mickey Aren’t Getting Married Party?’”

“It’d be ‘Mickey and Mandy,’” The King corrected, “I’m the King, I come first.”

“Always? This makes me feel bad for Ian,” Svetlana quipped, giving the redhead a wink and  
loving the way he blushed so intensely at the double entendre.

“Hey!” Mickey pointed at her jauntily, trying to stifle the laughter that was threatening to tumble  
out of his mouth, “You’re at a party. Try to act like a fucking lady or some shit. Don’t make me  
throw you back on my uncle’s cock.”

In response, Svetlana gave him the finger and then mimed a lewd gesture of a blowjob; the big  
finish a flourish of her hands waving towards Mickey’s face.

The King rolled his eyes in response and took another hit off the pipe. He cleared his throat and  
adjusted his pants when Ian leaned into him as if he was going to whisper something in his ear but  
nipped at his earlobe impishly instead. “Been thinking about you all day,” the redhead admitted  
softly, his eyes darting around to see if there was any attention on them, happy to find that  
everyone was engrossed in a story Svetlana was telling about some girls of the Court.

“Oh yeah? Whatchu been thinking about?” Mickey asked, always interested to know what turned  
his boyfriend on.

“A bunch of different shit. Been real horny today,” He confessed, letting his hand rest on  
Mickey’s upper thigh, “Already had to get myself off like three times.”

“That right?” The King licked his lips and raised his eyebrows, “Three times. You gonna have  
any fuck left in that big dick for me or did you dump it all on your hand?”

“Dumped a lot in my hand, but got even more for you,” Ian assured him, “Gonna fill you up  
nice.”

“Goddamn.” Mickey shifted and pushed against the straining hard on that was threatening to tent  
his pants.

“So you want me to tell you what I thought about, hmm?” The redhead questioned, moving his  
hand off his boyfriend to take another drag of the pipe.

Mickey had asked for the details, but he was now thinking it wouldn’t be the best idea to hear  
them. The few words Ian had already muttered to him were driving him fucking crazy, but he  
couldn’t stop himself from nodding the affirmative.

“Well the first time I was thinking about bending you over in your Privy Council meeting and  
giving it to you fucking hard. Just throw your chest down on the table, lean all my weight down  
on my arm that’d be holding you in place and destroy your ass while all those motherfuckers  
watched and wished they had someone that took it as good as you.”

The King choked on the whiskey he was drinking, eyes wide as he sputtered for breath.  
“You ok?” Ian asked, patting him on the back, trying to help him push out his coughs.

“Raise your arms if you need help,” Lip directed, giving Mickey a concerned look.

“Did you take it down the wrong pipe?” Mandy questioned, worry evident in her tone.

He shook his head and waved his hands to indicate that they should all leave him alone. He stood  
and folded over his knees, attempting to get the last of his coughs out. “I gotta take a walk. Get  
some fresh air or some shit. You coming?” He asked Ian once he’d straightened out.

“We’re outside. Fresh air is all around us,” Thomas teased, garnering a look of contempt from the  
king.

“What’s all around us is fucking smoke that’s making me cough, dipshit,” He retorted, throwing a  
tattooed finger up at his friend before signaling for Ian to come with him, “Let’s go.”  
They walked in silence to the fallen tree they’d sat on weeks before, when they were each  
tiptoeing around the idea of being with the other. “So,” Mickey prompted, taking a seat, “tell me  
more.”

Ian shook his head; glassy eyes alight with laughter, “Can’t handle it. Almost died back there!” He  
leaned on the tree across from his boyfriend and gave him a flirtatious grin.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mickey scoffed, untying his pants and pulling then down low enough for  
his hard cock to spring out. He sighed at the relief of not being constrained, “I swallowed weird.”

“You always swallow perfect for me,” Ian pointed out, lifting his eyebrow in emphasis.

The King smiled, “You're a horny bitch today, huh? Fucking love it.” He dropped his hand down  
to his dick and started to stroke it slowly, “C’mon, keep going. What was I doing while you were  
railing me on the table?”

“You were whimpering like you always do when I really slam you,” He informed him, watching  
lustfully as Mickey touched himself.

“Fuck you I whimper,” He contended, letting out a soft groan and tilting his head back for a  
moment to bask in the feeling.

“When I fuck you, you do,” Ian corrected, with a naughty grin, “Like this…” He cooed a series of  
broken little moans; his best imitation of the sounds the King made that drove him absolutely wild,

“So fucking sexy. Could just listen to you whine like that and get off.”

“Yeah?”

Ian nodded and untied his pants, letting them drop to his knees, “Come over here.”

The brunet shook his head, “Tell me about the second one,” He ordered, “The second time you  
made yourself cum thinking of me.”

“Tar anseo. How about you just suck this dick instead?” Ian suggested, mirroring Mickey’s  
movements on his own cock, “Don’t have a lot of time.”

“Uh uh. Wanna hear it.”

“The second time you were riding me so hard I thought you were going to break my fucking dick.  
Doing that shit you do when you arch your back and grab my ankles while you buck on it, love  
that.” Ian felt that his control over the situation was beginning to get away from him. He had been  
doing the teasing, but now he was feeling tantalized.

He watched as Mickey turned over so his elbows were resting on the tree and his ass was  
presented in the air, “Tell me about the third time,” He directed, looking over his shoulder at Ian as  
they both continued to jerk their cocks. The redhead approached and laid his hands on Mickey’s  
hips but he was knocked away, “Tell me.”

Becoming frustrated, Ian slapped one of his lover’s pale white cheeks with his dick and sighed,  
“The third time, I had you folded in half and I was driving into you like we haven’t fucked in  
years. You were saying filthy shit.” Though Ian was feeling confident, he could still feel fire of  
embarrassment creeping across his cheeks.

“Mmmhmm,” Mickey hummed, becoming annoyed when Ian remained quiet, “Not gonna make  
me ask you ‘what’, man, are you? I’m leaking on my fucking boots. Let’s go.”

Ian steeled himself, thumbing brunet’s crack open a bit to gaze into his tight hole.

“C’mon,” The King urged, rolling his hips back, his ass was rubbing against Ian’s balls, “You still  
got ‘em. Tell me.”

The redhead positioned his dick so it was laying in Mickey’s crack, his lover’s cheeks squeezing  
his girth. Holding himself by the base, he began to slide himself back and forth, relishing in the  
friction. With his free hand he knocked his boyfriend’s hand off his dick, starting to jerk him off  
with the same rhythm.

“Fuck that feels good,” Mickey crooned as the pressure built. He rested his forehead against the  
bark, not giving a fuck that it wasn’t the most comfortable position to be in so long as Ian was  
doing that twisting thing he did with his wrist and the weight of his cock was pressing against his  
ass, “You better fucking tell me before I cum, bitch. I swear…”

“Tá tú dona,” Ian huffed, hunching over Mickey, his breath fanning against his lover’s, “You’re  
bad.”

“Don’t give a fuck. Spit it out. The fuck was I saying?”

The redhead rocked his hips quicker as the precum that dripping from his slit made Mickey slick  
and allowed him to move more smoothly against the skin. He began to pant, edging towards far  
enough gone to reveal his fantasy. The sound of skin slapping that was filling the air pushed him  
over the edge, “Break me in half with that big dick, daddy,” he moaned, “Impale me with that  
cock. Shit like that.”

“Fuck. Tell me what you said,” Mickey demanded, feeling his balls tighten with his impending  
release, “After I said that, what did you say?”

“So good for me, take it so good for me,” He disclosed, grunting as Mickey’s dick spasmed in his  
hand.

“Keep saying that, keep saying that to me. Fucking love it.”

“Take it so good for me, Mick, take this cock so fucking good. So perfect,” Ian chanted in  
Mickey’s ear. As soon Mickey’s hot cum splattered over his fist he shot his load up his  
boyfriend’s back.

They both panted for breath as Ian haphazardly tried to wipe Mickey down with a leaf for a  
moment before giving up and just swiping his back with the bottom of his own chemise.

“Quit it." Mickey let out a breathy laugh, "I'll go get cleaned up. Tell them I’m fucking puking or  
something,” He directed, shooing his boyfriend away, “Not gonna sit there my shirt stuck to my  
back.”

“Sorry, I mean, where should I have..?"

“I don’t give a shit, just tell them,” He said, giving his boyfriend a quick kiss, "Go to your  
chambers and wait for Henry to come pick you up, alright?”

Mickey made his way through the woods replaying the last few hours in his mind, wondering  
how he'd managed to get so lucky. He was about to approach the courtyard when two shadowy  
figures leaning against the back of the ambassadors’ wing caught his eyes. Even squinting he was  
only able to make out that one of them was Ian’s dad, Francis. He wondered if maybe this sodomy  
shit was genetic and he was about to catch the dude banging the other guy. When the mystery  
man let out a wry laugh, Mickey knew exactly who it was, but what he didn’t understand was  
why they were talking each other at all, let alone in the middle of the night. Something felt off and  
he was going to find out what.

Chapter Thirty-One:

Mickey hated to wake Ian up when he was sleeping so peacefully. If he hadn't been expecting  
Cardinal Woolsmith that morning, he would've left his boyfriend in the bed while he went to his  
other meetings. As unrealistic as it was, he wished Ian would stay in his room all the time. There  
would always be obligations that'd pull him away, but knowing he was coming back to his lover's  
arms would make everything more palatable.

"Baby," He whispered. The hand he'd rested on his boyfriend's cheek prompting his eyes to flutter  
open, "Good morning."

"Morning," Ian rasped sleepily, tucking his head down so he could snuggle into Mickey's  
muscular chest, "Tired." He let out a lion yawn before pressing a kiss onto the King's skin, "Let  
me sleep for like 10 more minutes," He urged, as Mickey rubbed his hand up and down the curves  
of his spine soothingly.

"The Cardinal's gonna be here soon," Mickey stated in an apologetic tone, "Can't have your sexy  
ass leaving while he's coming in."

"Love you," The redhead hummed, closing his eyes again.

"Love you, too, but that don't mean that I'm gonna let you go back to sleep. Wake up," he said,  
playfully patting his ass cheeks, "C'mon."

"Your bed's so comfortable," Ian whined, holding onto Mickey tighter even though his boyfriend  
was playing the drums on his ass, "Mine sucks."

"Thought you were used to it? That I didn't need to worry about that shit?" Mickey asked  
quizzically, tickling Ian's side.

"Well, you're spoiling me," Ian said with a laugh, rolling onto his back so he could look at the  
crimson canopy above him.

"Don't give you enough. Wish I could give you more," The King said earnestly, tracing his finger  
down his boyfriend's sternum. "If things were different, I'd put a fucking crown on your head. It'd  
be full of the finest gemstones- most expensive shit I could find. I'd have all your clothes woven  
outta the softest silk. Wouldn't let anything else touch that body. Take care of you the way you  
deserve."

"Don't need all that," Ian assured him, turning back onto his side to curve his body around  
Mickey's, "All I'd ever need from you…" he began, tilting his head to look at boyfriend, who was  
gazing back at him as if he'd fulfill any request, even if he had to move heaven and hell to do so,  
"is ten more minutes of sleep."

"Brat," He chided without malice, a grin on his lips. He held Ian closer and sighed, "Fine. But  
when I wake your ass up, you better get the fuck outta here."

"So romantic," Ian teased, tethering himself to Mickey's body as he drifted back to sleep.

He didn't wake Ian until he absolutely had to, reveling in the contentedness on his face as he slept  
in his arms, “Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” He crooned giving him a gentle shake, “Don’t want you  
to, but you gotta go.”

“Raibh mé in ann a chaitheamh go deo anseo.” Ian’s tired eyes looked into Mickey’s, “I could  
spend forever here.”

“Gonna do everything I can to make sure that you do, but today…” He leaned down to kiss his  
forehead tenderly, “You gotta go.”

Ian humphed his protest, but rolled off of the bed to get dressed.

“Open the curtains. Wanna watch you,” The King directed, turning on his side as his boyfriend  
tugged the drapes that hung around his bed to the side and tied them back.

“Should I go really slowly?” The redhead teased, sticking out his tongue and rubbing his hands  
over his body in a dramatized way.

Mickey licked his lips and raised his eyebrows as he studied his lover’s body, attempting to  
memorize every cut and muscle, “Goddamn your hot, you know that?

“Not as hot as you,” Ian asserted, his face tinting pink as he pulled on his chemise.

“You ever been fucked?’ Mickey questioned, staring at Ian’s firm ass as he bent over to grab his  
pants.

“We fuck all the time,” He replied, as he tied the drawstring.

“Mmmhmm, but I’m asking if you’ve ever had your ass fucked,” The King clarified, clicking his  
tongue when Ian narrowed his eyes at him, “Anybody ever tap that?” He was pretty sure he knew  
the answer. His boyfriend was an eager fucker, always wanting to sink his dick in.

Ian shook his head slowly, “Nope.”

“Ever have anything in there?”

He shook his head again, “Unchartered territory.”

“Hmmm, can’t tell a King that, now I feel like I gotta conquer it, make it mine.”

“Thought you weren’t into that,” Ian stated with a smirk, leaning over to give his boyfriend a peck  
goodbye.

“Wanna be your first and only,” Mickey replied, pulling the redhead in by his shirt so he could  
deepen the kiss.

“Then you will be,” Ian assured him once they peeled their lips apart. He grinned when Mickey  
reached around and spanked his ass.

The knock on the door had both of their eyes wide, “Your Grace?”

“It’s Henry,” Mickey stated once he heard the familiar voice, “Toss me my clothes.” He  
scrambled to put them on as soon as Ian handed them to him and jumped out the bed to sit  
properly on his chair, “Come in,” he called, clearing his throat as the older man pushed open the  
door.

“Your Grace,” He bowed, “I need to take Sir Gallagher now. Cardinal Woolsmith is waiting at  
the end of the hallways with the guards.”

Mickey nodded and gave his boyfriend a slight wave as he made his way to the door. It never got  
easier to watch him leave, even when he knew that he would be seeing him that evening, “You  
can have them send the Cardinal in.”

Henry bowed again and led Ian by the small of his back, anxious to get him out before anyone  
could see him.

When Mickey heard a quiet grunting through the walls he rose to his feet and peeked his head out  
his chamber door to see Cardinal Woolsmith making his way slowly down the hall, leaning  
heavily on his cane, “You assholes don’t offer him a hand?” He admonished the guards, who  
bowed quickly faces rife with fear.

“Your Grace, we did offer, but he refused,” One of the guards defended

The King just shot them a dirty look as he wrapped his elbow around the Cardinal’s and helped  
him into the room.

“Even an old man has pride, Your Grace,” The old man informed him as he received assistance  
lowering into the chair.

“Yeah well, pride ain’t worth a broken back,” Mickey retorted, sitting on the edge of the bed and  
looking him over, “You don’t look good. You in pain or something?”

“It is not worth complaining about what ails me, for I have not, and will not, be made to suffer like  
our Lord and savior did. He died for our sins, Mikhailo. Who am I to complain of an ache?”

“I mean… whatever.” The King was going to argue, but decided against it, “I don’t know what to  
say to that,” He paused, “Y’know weird shit is happening around here.”

The older man sighed at his brash language, but decided not to harp on it, “What are the strange  
occurrences?”

“Last night, I was in the woods partying.” He ignored the unimpressed look the Cardinal was  
shooting him and went on, “It must’ve been like 2:00am by the time I headed back to the castle  
and on my way I saw the Irish ambassador talking to Sully behind the ambassador wing, looking  
real fucking shady.”

The Cardinal screwed down his eyebrows at the information, “Are you sure it was your cousin?”  
Mickey nodded and bit his lower lip, “Yeah I’m fucking sure. Just don’t know what the fuck  
they’d be talking about.”

“I’m going to ignore the stream of obscenities that are pouring out of your mouth due to the  
gravity of the conversation we are having,” The Cardinal stated simply.

“If you were ignoring them you wouldn’t have said that, ehh?” Mickey pointed out with a smirk,  
flicking his eyebrows up mischievously.

“The only pain I will ever complain about is that which I feel when I hear you swear.”

“Man that’s some guilt,” Mickey huffed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and shaking  
his head, “I’ll do better.”

The older man gave him a feeble smile, “Much appreciated, Your Grace.” He turned the  
conversation back on course, “Have you had any contact with this Irishman?”

“Not a lot. He popped up in random meetings, but nothing outta the ordinary. Don’t know any  
reason Sully would gotta talk to him, especially not in the middle of the fuc… the night.” He  
sniffed and wiggled his mouth uncomfortably.

“Is there something you are not telling me, Your Grace?” The Cardinal pressed gently, giving the  
King a knowing look.

Mickey shook his head and nudged his knuckle against the side of his nose, “Nah.”

“Of what nationality is the redheaded man whom I saw leaving your quarters this morning?” The  
older man asked quietly. Though he was already aware of the answer, he wanted Mickey to hear  
himself say it aloud.

The King ran his tongue over his top teeth and cringed uneasily, “He’s Irish.”

“Hmm, I see,” He nodded, raising a shaky hand up to adjust his glasses, “The son of the  
ambassador if I understand correctly.”

“He’d never…” Mickey caught himself, not wanting to delve deeper into the conversation and  
reveal more than he needed to, “He wouldn’t.”

“Only the Lord can judge us,” The Cardinal stated, “I was not put on the Earth to look upon  
others with judgement, only to spread His word and His love. That being said,” He cleared his  
throat, “Our sins can be used against us and when they are sins of the flesh, we are even more  
susceptible to coercion.”

“It’s not like that,” The King began, but he was interrupted by the older man.

“This meeting between your cousin and the ambassador leads me to believe that there is a plan to  
usurp you. They could be using this...” he paused as if the word was difficult to say, “man,” he  
closed his eyes, “to get to you, to exploit your depravity. Your proclivities are unnatural, Mikhailo  
and I fear that this may be your punishment for giving into them.”

Mickey felt like the wind was knocked out of him. “How did you know that I,” his voice trailed  
off as if he didn’t truly want to know the answer to the question. The taste of bile was rising in his  
throat at the accusation and subsequent castigation.

“I knew before you did I’m sure,” The older man admitted with a heavy sigh, “From how you  
looked at Thomas and the other boys. You were always a degenerate. I never loved you less for it,  
just felt inclined to guide you more.”

His eyes began to sting from the tears he was desperately trying to hold back. He pressed the heels  
of his hands against his eyelids and shook his head, “I’m not feeling so well,” He muttered,  
wanting the older man to leave as soon as possible. He didn’t blame him for the things he’d said,  
but he couldn’t bear the humiliation.

“I should go then leave you to your thoughts,” The Cardinal offered, struggling to stand on his  
own.

Mickey wiped away a stray tear while jumping up to help the man out of the chair. He walked  
him to the door and inhaled sharply when he put his cold hands on either side of Mickey’s cheeks.

The stared at each other wordlessly, the pain apparent in both their eyes.

As soon as the Cardinal was escorted down the hall and his chamber door was closed, Mickey  
threw himself down on his bed, discharging all the tears he’d held back. The things the Cardinal  
had said were painful, but none more than his suspicions in Ian. Mickey knew how Ian felt about  
him. He couldn’t fake that, right?

Chapter Thirty-Two

When Thomas entered the meeting room, he was surprised to see that the King was already sitting  
at the head of the empty table, looking anything but pleased. His best friend was a lot of things,  
but punctual wasn’t often one them.

“You look like shit,” He told him, taking the seat next to him.

“Yeah, well fuck you, too,” Mickey shot back gruffly, earning an eye roll and light laugh from his  
friend.

“What’s your problem?”

“Had a crazy fucking morning. There’s some weird shit going on around here,” The King  
informed him, “and I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

“You wanna fill me in or just stew in it?” Thomas questioned, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Just as Mickey was about to answer the query the rest of the Privy Council filed into the room, all  
looking similar to how Thomas had when he saw that the King was already in attendance. They  
bowed and expediently took their seats.

“It seems His Grace is eager to begin, so we will do so with fervor,” Charles stated, giving a  
tightlipped smile to his nephew, “Shall we start with the plans you indicated you would have  
regarding the Isle of Man, Your Grace?”

“Yeah, uh,” He flicked the bad of his index finger against his nostril and sniffed, looking at  
Thomas. As much as they’d discussed how badass it was, they hadn’t actually gotten into the  
details of how they fuck they were going to do it. Thomas glanced back at him guiltily. “So, we  
gotta do something different. Shake them the fuck up.”

Charles cleared his throat, while a few of the other men on the council stifled uncomfortable  
coughs, “And how do you proposed that we,” his uncle paused, “catch them off guard.”

“They’d expect people coming from the South to take them from the South, so they have most of  
their troops down there. We gotta swing around and get them from the North.”

“The North's lands are much more ragged than the South,” Sully stated matter-of-factly.

“You telling me my army is made up of a bunch of pussies?” Mickey challenged, not wanting to  
hear shit from his cousin.

“I didn’t,” He objected, but Mickey cut him off.

“Instead of attacking at night, we’re gonna do it in the morning. Sunday morning, nobody lodges  
attacks on Sunday mornings.”

“With good reason,” Lord Barkely said, “It is the Lord’s day after all.”

“Well, now I’m gonna make it mine. I want the ships setting out a week from today. It will take a  
few days to get there. So next Sunday, we’re invading. Want our men to take them from the  
North, pillage the villages, burn anything than gets in their way,” He rambled, feeling more  
confident in his plan as he spoke, “They have 10 days to prepare. I want this shit seamless.”

“This is very unorthodox. It could mean a significant loss of life; theirs and ours,” Charles  
cautioned, “Nothing like this has ever been done before.”

“That’s why it’s gonna fucking work. Shock the shit out of them. Fuck England with our big dick,  
show them who’s the bitch.” He paused for long enough to admonish himself for thinking about  
fucking Ian’s ass at a time like this, but he really wanted to fuck that ass, “Any other questions?  
Concerns?”

The men at the table shook their heads meekly, realizing that the King was in rare form and  
deciding that keeping their necks whole was more of a priority than contending a potentially  
deadly mission.

“Good. Now, onto other business," He began with a wry smile, turning to his cousin, "Sully,  
maybe you'd like to tell us why you were talking to the Irish ambassador in the middle of the night  
outside his chambers."

All eyes fixed on a very nonplussed Sully, "I have no idea what you are talking about, Your  
Grace," He said cooly, "I'm confused as to why you would implicate me in such a suspicious act."

"I'm confused as to why you'd be engaged in such a fucking suspicious act," He snapped back.

"I wasn't. I'm assuming by the fact that you're claiming to have seen me in the middle of the night,  
you were out partying with your peasant friends, Your Grace?" His tone was respectful but still  
dripping with contempt, "Perhaps you were partaking in some mind altering substances and you  
were confused."

All the heads ping ponged to Mickey, who shook his head angrily, "I know what I saw, Sully."  
A hesitant knock on the door interrupted the tension that was about to erupt otherwise.

“Your Grace,” Henry said, peeking his head into the door with a slight dip, “You asked me to tell  
you when it was time to make your way to the Astrologer. He has called for you saying that the  
sun and moon are in the optimal positions for him to draw your chart.”

As soon as Mickey stood up the rest of the men at the table did as well, bowing low. Though he  
wasn’t that into the Astrologer, he was thankful for the interruption. He felt himself edging closer  
and closer to ripping Sully’s jugular out and shoving it down his father’s throat. Fuck, he wanted  
to beat the shit out of him.

The walk to the Trithemius’ quarters was a short one, which Mickey was glad for since if it had  
been any longer, his head would have been spinning with the possibilities of what the old man  
would tell him.

“Your Grace,” The Astrologer bowed and then signaled for Mickey to take a seat. “Are you ready  
to begin?” He asked as he lit a candle between them and set his papers on the rickety table. The  
room was as cold as a cave, even though spring had sprung weeks before.

“Mmmhmm,” Mickey nodded, narrowing his eyes and gesturing towards the old man’s long  
white beard, “You ever think about cutting that thing? It ever get itchy and shit and you’re like ‘I  
think it’s fucking time’?”

The Astrologer shook his head and chuckled, “I like it, Your Grace. I take it you do not?”

“Nah. Keep thinking you get like chicken stuck in it. You ever lose shit, then dig around in there a  
bit and find it?”

“Never.”

Mickey shrugged, “Sounds like you don’t got the best luck, guess we should hear about mine,”  
He gave the other man an impish grin and gestured towards the papers.

“As we’ve discussed before your sun sign is the Leo and not surprisingly there’s an unmistakably  
regal air to Solar Leos. You are dignified--even noble--folk. You have a reputation for being  
conceited, but this generally takes the form of wanting to change the world in some way- to make  
the world a better place. You’re motivated by affection for people and have big dreams of how to  
make the people you love happy. It seems that you are in currently in love, Your Grace, is that  
correct?”

“I am,” Mickey admitted tentatively, hoping that his lover’s sex didn’t show up among the stars.

“This person,” Trithemius began, as if he was choosing the term carefully so as not to make the  
King feel uncomfortable, “was born under the Libra sun. They are charming, forgiving, laid-back  
and flirtatious. Does this sound like your person?”

The King nodded, “Yeah, that uh, sounds like them.”

“Good. Though they have these good qualities, they can also become detached, unreliable, moody  
and indecisive. You have concerns regarding whether or not you can trust this person?” He asked  
squinting a bit and scanning over the lines of his chart.

“I don’t. I mean, I didn’t…” He replied.

Trithemius waved off his deliberation as if he had asked as stupid question to begin with, “I guess  
as the King you need to be wary of everyone’s intentions, yes?”

Mickey nodded again, nervous to hear what the Astrologer was going to report.

“They are immensely trustworthy,” He said, noticing the sigh of relief that escaped the King’s lips.

“The love they have for you runs deeply throughout your chart, which would indicate that this  
person was born for you and you for them. We call this a ‘soulmate.’ Have you heard this term?”

“From Mandy when she rambles on about not getting promised to anybody,” Mickey replied. He  
could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the confirmation that Ian was it for him.  
Trithemius let out a soft laugh, “Ah, yes. Your sister is a ball of fire, isn’t she?”

“Sets lotsa dudes balls on fire I guess,” The King relented, “So I don’t got anything to worry  
about then?”

“Well,” The Astrologer cleared his throat, “I didn’t say that. You have much to worry about it  
seems, but not in regards to your love. Mars is moving into your 11th house, which indicates that  
you have some challenges ahead. There will be a betrayal of blood and blood will be spilled as a  
result.”

“Whose blood?” Mickey asked, taken aback by the statement. He’d been visiting Trithemius for  
years, with most of the information he’d received rather inane in comparison to the intense report.

“I, of course, do not have names, but I do have a warning: Snakes surround you. When you chop  
of the head of one, the others will grow second. Regardless of how many you decapitate, there  
will always be more. Do you understand?”

“Getting the impression that I’m fucked. That a fair summary?” Mickey questioned, becoming  
agitated.

Trithemius shook his head in protest, “You can only be taken if you give yourself.”

“You speak in a lot of goddamn codes, you know that?” He ged, crossing his arms over his chest,

“Me and my person, are we gonna be alright? Can you give me some fucking nursery rhyme  
about that?”

“All I see is movement. They move through you, as you move through them; their blood pumps  
through your veins and your blood through theirs, yes?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying,” The King snapped, tapping his leg nervously.

“Whatever you do, you will do together. Wherever you go, you will go together. In life and in  
death, you will never be apart.”

He paused and stared at the elderly man, “Oh, alright,” He thumbed his bottom lip and tilted his  
head, “I can handle that. Any idea of when all this shit is gonna go down?”

“It’s already happening all around you,” Trithemius warned, “You just have to open your eyes  
and look around.”

“Sounds pretty fucking vague.”

“It would be if you didn’t already know,” The older man said with a slight grin, “You were born  
with the instincts of deity rather than a King. You just need to trust yourself.”

“Hmm,” Mickey hummed, watching as the Astrologer rolled the papers into a tight cylinder and  
held them to the flame of the candle.

Perhaps it was time to hold some feet to the fire.

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Hey!" Ian's face was light and bright when he entered Mickey's chambers later that night,

"Missed you," He crooned, looping his arms around his boyfriend's waist as as he leaned down to  
kiss him.

"Yeah?" Mickey questioned, laughing softly as Ian nuzzled his face into his neck.

"Of course," He assured him, dropping down to his knees and untying the King's pants as he  
looked up into his blue eyes lustfully, "Always do."

Before he could tug down his pants, Mickey leaned down and lifted up on his elbows, prompting  
him to stand. Once he obliged, he took his hand and led him to the bed. "C'mere, gotta talk to you  
about something."

"The last time you started a conversation like that you told me that the Princess was coming," Ian  
stated nervously, trying to read his boyfriend's expression and finding that he was having a  
difficult time, "Please don't tell me another girl is coming this soon."

They sat cross legged on the bed, facing each other with their knees touching and their hands  
intertwined. "Ain't anything like that," Mickey stated, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. The  
worry was evident on Ian's face and he fucking hated to see it there, especially when it had to do  
with him, "Saw something weird on the way back from the woods last night."

"Like a ghost?" The redhead asked wide eyed.

"The fuck?" Mickey humphed, screwing his face up at the suggestion, "No, I didn't see a fucking  
ghost. Where the hell do you even come up with this shit?"

Ian shrugged, "You said you saw something weird in the middle of the night. That's the first thing  
I thought of. It'd be weird, right? If you saw a ghost."

"Yeah. I mean, it'd be weird," Mickey relented, squeezing Ian's hands gently, "but that's not..." he  
sighed and shook his head, "I didn't see a ghost, baby." He almost wished he had.

"What'd you see then?" He asked, seemingly disappointed that the story wasn't going to end in an  
apparition.

"Your dad..."

"In the middle of the night? What was he doing?"

"Talking to Sully behind the ambassador's wing."

"That is weird," Ian stated, "Why the fuck would be be talking to that piece of shit?" He paused,

"That goes both ways, they're both pieces of shit, why were they talking to each other?"

"Got no fucking clue," The King admitted, loosening one of his hands out of Ian's grip so he  
could rest it on his freckled cheek, "Wondered if you might have an idea?"

"Francis is always doing some fucked up shit," Ian groused, rolling his eyes, "I'm sure he's gotten  
himself into some scheme that'll have his head rolling."

"You call your dad, Francis?" Mickey asked skeptically, surprised with how frank Ian was being  
about his father.

"He's hardly a dad," The redhead stated with a tsk, "The two of them are up to something and I  
know it's bad," He decided, "because why wouldn't the dickhead fuck shit up for me. Always has,  
always will." He punched out an aggravated exhale and rubbed the back of his neck with his  
hand, "Want me to try to dig around? See what I can find?"

"You'd do that?" Mickey asked, taken aback by his boyfriend's devotion, "It could lead to some  
bad shit for your dad," He warned, earning a shrug from Ian, "You were pretty upset about that  
blond guy."

"Gregory," He corrected tersely.

"Gregory," Mickey repeated dutifully, "You were shaken up by that, and this is your old man."

"In my eyes, Gregory was innocent, something Francis will never have the pleasure of being. I  
don't want to see the same thing happen to him, but if it did, it would be because he deserved it.  
I'm sure of that."

"So, you're not, y'know, aware of anything they could be discussing?" Mickey questioned,  
immediately wishing the words hadn't escaped his mouth.

"Are you serious?" The redhead gasped, "I'd never do anything to hurt you." His eyes were as  
earnest at they were beautiful, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Mickey promised, "It's just that, I have to consider every circumstance."

Ian nodded his understanding, though he hated the idea that his boyfriend could ever question his  
intentions or loyalty, "You're all that matters to me."

Mickey leaned in so his lips were resting gently against Ian's, "If you were the reason I lost my  
head, I wouldn't want to live anyway- knowing that you betrayed me."

"I would never," Ian asserted before sliding his tongue into his lover's mouth. They kissed  
vehemently as they stripped each other of clothes, "Love of my life," He cooed as Mickey pushed  
him down onto the bed, hovering over him so he could look over his body. "Belongs to you," He  
said softly, earning a grin from the King.

"Gonna take what's mine then," He stated, leaning over to grab his oil out of the bedside table. He  
slicked up the fingers on his right hand and the palm of his left. Without another word he wrapped  
his hand around Ian's cock beginning to jerk it slowly as a means to keep him distracted from what  
was coming next. As gingerly as possible, he pressed the tip of his finger just beyond the tight of  
muscle and into the entry of Ian's ass, "Gotta tight little hole." He sighed, licking his lips as he  
pushed his finger in further. "Gonna spread it out nice before I fuck you. You like that that?" He  
wiggled his finger a bit before pushing it in and out of Ian, gradually going deeper. patiently  
worked Ian until he felt his walls loosening around him.

Ian let out a soft whimper as Mickey carefully introduced a second finger. Waving his boyfriend  
closer to him, the redhead caught his lips and tangled their tongues together through the  
discomfort.

"Relax," Mickey breathed, feeling Ian's walls tighten around him again as he began to scissor his  
fingers slowly.

Ian cringed at the strange sensation, hating the burn but loving the way Mickey's digits brushed  
against his prostate with every other rotation.

"Doing so good," He praised, continuing to jerk his boyfriend's big cock as he worked his ass. He  
looked down at Ian, feeling his own dick twitch as the sight of his pretty mouth hanging open with  
the mixture of pleasure and pain, "Feel ok?"

Ian nodded, too overwhelmed by the sensation to speak.

When Mickey was easily fucking Ian with three fingers and the redhead was doing more moaning  
than low groaning, he figured he was good to go. He moved his fingers close to one another so he  
could slide them out of slowly, smirking when he heard a whine of loss from his boyfriend. "I  
think you're ready. What d'you think?"

"Want you inside me," The redhead practically groaned, bothered by the strange feeling of  
emptiness he was experiencing.

"Yeah you're ready," The King said with a smile, "Gonna fill you up with my cock. You want  
that? This thick cock inside you?"

Ian nodded and bit his bottom lip as Mickey hooked one of his legs over the crook of elbow and  
used his other hand to line his cock up to Ian's hole. He pushed into him slowly, only making it  
halfway before he felt resistance. Ian was grunting underneath him. "Keep going," Ian croaked,  
pupils blown from the lust.

"You gotta relax," Mickey whispered leaning down to kiss Ian. Ian sighed into Mickey's mouth  
and then forced himself to pull his lips away so he could take a deep breath and keep it together.  
Mickey moved his lips down to Ian's neck, sucking a mark into his pale skin as he continued to  
push into Ian's tightness. He shimmied his hips a bit to stretch Ian out and urge his body to give  
him space. "There we go," Mickey rasped against Ian's skin as he bottomed out. He lifted his lips  
off of Ian and straightened up so he could see the redhead's face. His eyes were practically rolled  
back in his head and he was biting his bottom lip hard. "That alright?"

"Fuck me."

That's all the King needed to hear, he started to roll his hips loving the way Ian's ass was  
clenching around him, "So fucking good for me, baby. Take it perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mickey sighed, letting his head drop slightly so he could watch his cock move in and out  
of Ian. He picked up his pace watching as his lover's body absorbed him so perfectly. He drove  
into him with slow, deep thrusts, content on fucking him like that for as long as his boyfriend  
could take it, and fuck could he take it. After a half hour of rhythmic fucking, Ian began lift his  
hips to meet every thrust. "Fuck, I see you, Gallagher," Mickey said proudly, lifting his eyebrows  
in appreciation of his fervor.

Ian bit his lip and grinned in response, continuing to take him in more and more.

"Feel good?"

"Really fucking good," The redhead moaned, savoring the sensation of having Mickey inside of  
him. He admired the way the King's muscles flex and tightened with every movement.

"Like when I ride you, don't you?"

"Love it," Ian moaned as Mickey angled up to drive his dick into his prostate. His body began to  
tremble with his impending release. He whimpered when Mickey unexpectedly pulled out. "What  
the fuck?" he sighed when the King rolled over onto his back, waiting.

"Hop on it and show daddy what you learned," He directed, spreading his legs out and rubbing  
his hand up and down his dick as Ian eagerly straddled above him. He watched as the redhead  
reached back and spread his cheeks open so he could sit on his cock. He gasped as he lowered  
himself onto his boyfriend. Placing one hand on Mickey's shoulder and the other on his hip, he  
lifted his body up and down on his cock.

"Like that," Mickey moaned, trying to keep it together. The view was almost too much to handle  
with Ian's gorgeous face, perfect cock, and ripped up body gyrating on top of him. His blue eyes  
were trained on that cock, so long, thick and straight as an arrow. He couldn't stop watching as it  
bounced and bobbed with every moment. It looked heavy and full and all the King wanted to do  
was watch it shoot its load, "Want you to cum on me. Jerk that cock and cum all over me.  
"C'mon," He urged giving Ian a gentle spank on the ass.

Already close to the edge, Ian began to jack off while continuing his up and down movements. He  
was taken by surprise when Mickey started snap his hip up into him, his dick hitting his prostate  
with every thrust. Almost on command Ian shot his load all over his boyfriend's chest with a yell.

The King wasn't far behind, emptying deep inside of Ian's contracting hole.

Not worried about the mess, Ian collapsed onto his lover, thoroughly fucked and exhausted. He  
hummed contentedly as Mickey rubbed up and down his back. They laid there in silence for a  
while until Mickey asked, "You ever hear of soulmates?"

"Mmmhmm," Ian replied sleepily.

"Well, you're mine," He stated, pressing a kiss onto Ian's bare shoulder.

"Course I am," Ian said matter-of-factly, "That's how it works. You're mine and I'm yours."

"How'd you know that shit? I just found out from the Astrologer today."

"You always knew," Ian yawned, "just like I did. You already knew."

He already knew.

Chapter Thirty-Four

As much as Mickey hated that he couldn't be with Ian in the light of day, there was something  
nostalgic about just watching him. A short time ago he worried his infatuation was unrequited;  
feared that he'd never taste the salt of his skin or the sweetness of his mouth. Now, as he sat on the  
parapet and gazed down at him sitting with Mary and Elizabeth in the gardens below, he felt  
settled, knowing that in a few hours he'd have his arms wrapped around him and his lips on his.  
The little girls were giggling as they weaved flowers together to make a crown for Ian's head  
while the good sport admired them, propped up on his elbows, smiling. Periodically, the redhead  
would grin up at his boyfriend and whisper 'I love you,' the words muted by the space between  
them, but felt deeply by the recipient.

The cool breezes of spring were giving way to the humidity of summer, but the clear blue skies  
made the discomfort more bearable. The sweat that was beading on Mickey's brow, brought him  
back to the night before; sticky hot bodies moving in perfect unison as they got lost in each other  
for hours. He wondered if he'd ever get used to being with Ian; if the surging desire to be close to  
him would ever subside. The fact that he was entranced by the way the sun glimmered in his hair  
and his long eyelashes rested peacefully against his under eyes when the rays became to bright,  
led him to believe his need for him would never wane.

He was considering going down to join them when he heard Thomas's frantic voice call to him  
from doors of the castle, "Mick!"

As soon as he saw his friend's panicked face he jumped up and jogged over to him. "What? What  
the fuck's wrong?"

"You gotta call an emergency meeting of the Privy Council, man," He shook his head, evidently  
overwhelmed by the information it held, "This is... beyond fucked up."

"Spit it the hell out," The King demanded, feeling his heartbeat increase to an uncomfortable  
speed as all of the possible reasons for concern ran through his mind.

"Ireland took the Isle of Man yesterday morning. From the North," Thomas stated.

"Yesterday was Sunday," Mickey breathed, the realization dawning on him immediately. "They  
took it from the North. On the Sunday morning before we were going to do the same," He  
clinched his fists, the anger pulsing through his veins, "Motherfucking Sully. I'm gonna tear his  
goddamn head off with my hands. Fuck the executioner."

"This is bad, Mick. Really bad. It'll look like you failed. We couldn't afford a failure. The nobles  
will worry that you don't have control over your council, over the country, over yourself! Fuck,  
they've killed Kings for less. Treason in your council, Mick!" Thomas rambled, voice distraught.

"Did it work? Was it a good plan?" His fury was giving way to worry. He was pretty sure he  
would've been getting fucked that day, but not like this.

"From what we're hearing there was no loss of Irish life. They took it easily," Thomas reported,  
cringing at the words.

"Fuck," Mickey rubbed his forehead in exasperation, "If it'd been a bloodbath I could've said it  
was a fucking trap for our rat."

"It was a genius strategy," His best friend said sadly, "Wish it we would've gotten to act on it  
first."

The King allowed his eyes to travel back to his boyfriend, who had the wreath on his head and  
was making silly faces at the delighted girls.

"Not gonna be good for him either," Thomas said tentatively, resting his hand on his friend's  
shoulder, "It gonna be impossible for you to keep him here, Mick."

"Don't fucking tell me what's impossible," Mickey snapped, shaking him off. Though he was too  
distraught to admit it, he knew that Thomas had a point. The fact that it was Ireland that beat them  
to the punch cast a cloud of suspicion over not only Francis, but Ian and Lip as well. It would be  
unheard of for Mickey to let them live, let alone stay in Wales unscathed. There was no fucking  
way he was going to send his boyfriend away, so along with figuring out a strategy to prove that  
Sully was the traitor, he had to land upon a realistic reason for Ian to stay at Court. His simple  
afternoon had become anything but uncomplicated.

"I'm just saying..." Thomas began again, but was cut off by Mickey's head shaking vehemently.

"I know what the fuck you were saying. Not an idiot. Ain't gonna go there right now. Gonna deal  
with my piece of shit cousin first."

"You can't just go balls to the wall without any proof, Mick," He warned, "Don't let your  
emotions fuck shit up."

"I saw him talking to the Irish ambassador in the middle of the night! How much more goddamn  
proof do I need?" Mickey growled, gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he started to pace,

"Hmmm? Seems crystal fucking clear, don't it? Gonna have him drawn and quartered in the  
middle of the fucking Hall. Keep the blood on the floor as a reminder that you don't fuck with  
me."

"It seems obvious, but you know that's not the way it works. It was the middle of the night. You  
were high. If you execute a noble with that little proof, there will be outrage and you'll be in an  
even more precarious situation than you're in now," Thomas sighed.

"So then I'll get proof. I need two guards, Cardinal Woolsmith, Charles and Francis Gallagher  
down in the torture chamber," He stated, "Round everyone up and I'll be there in a half hour."

Thomas nodded and disappeared into the castle, leaving the King to stare down at his boyfriend.  
Though everything in his world seemed to be systematically falling apart, looking at Ian held him  
together.

The King pursed his lips, whistling to get redhead's attention. When his boyfriend looked up at  
him he gestured discreetly toward the woods. He made his way there first knowing Ian wouldn’t  
be far behind. Leaning against a tree trunk, he attempted to figure out a way to tell him what  
happened without worrying him too much.

“They’re so cute, right?” Ian said with a smile as he approached the King. He gave him a soft kiss  
and then another as if he couldn’t get enough of his lips, “Missed you.”

“Who’s cute?” He asked confused. His mind was spinning so quickly that he felt physically ill.

“Mary and Elizabeth,” Ian replied narrowing his eyes, “Are you alright? You look kinda pale.”

“I’m always fucking pale,” Mickey reminded him, forcing a weak smile, “I gotta tell you  
something.”

The redhead sighed, “Another something?”

The King nodded, “But everything’s gonna be okay. You have to trust me that I’ll make sure it’s  
alright for us, for you.” He wrapped his arm around Ian’s waist and pulled him close. Though he  
knew that it was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, he was going to do his damndest to  
make sure he did.

“You’re freaking me out, Mick,” Ian said softly, searching his boyfriend’s face for an indication of  
what was going on.

“Remember how I told you that we were going to be going for the Isle of Man? That I really  
fucking needed this conquest? How our attack was planned for next Sunday?” He shook his head,  
hardly believing the words that were about to come out of his mouth, “So, Ireland took the Isle  
yesterday. Same exact fucking plan.”

“No shit,” Ian gasped, his eyes growing wide, “Does that mean that somebody was feeding  
information to my King?”

Mickey closed his eyes and steeled himself before speaking, “Ian, don’t call him your King. I  
know that’s where you’re from, but you can’t refer to him like that right now. I’m your King. Call  
him King Sláine or the King of Ireland, but don’t refer to him as your King.”

Ian nodded his understanding, “I’m sorry, it’s just that…”

“No, I understand,” The brunet said patiently, rubbing his boyfriend’s back, “There’s going to be  
a lot of uncertainty surrounding any of the ambassadors and their families now, but especially your  
family.”

“This was definitely Francis. It has to be, right? You saw him talking to Sully. Just banish him and  
execute Sully for treason.”

“It’s not that easy. If I banish him, what’s my excuse for keeping you and Lip here, huh?  
Anybody else would assume that you were involved in some way,” Mickey explained, his eyes  
welling up with tears. He sniffed and squinted, desperate to hold them back, “I need to get to the  
bottom of this and then figure out how to fucking deal with it all.”

“Are you going to send me back to Galway?” Ian asked stunned by the turn of events. Things had  
finally been going well and now there was something else threatening to tear them apart… for  
good, “I can’t lose you. I can’t go back there and not have you.” He wasn’t able to hold back his  
emotions as well as the King. They leaked out of his eyes before pouring down like steady stream.

“Hey, hey,” Mickey soothed, wiping Ian’s face with both of his thumbs, “Told you I’d figure it  
out, right? You trust me don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ian muttered as Mickey pressed his lips against his tenderly, “It just seems impossible.”

“Second time I heard that today and I don’t fuck around like that. Trust me, alright?” The King  
urged.

Ian nodded sullenly, “I do.”

“I gotta go try to get this shit outta your dad now. May have to mess him up.”

“Can I come help?” The redhead asked clenching his jaw tight. Amid all of his upset he hadn’t  
allowed himself to rage over what an utter piece of trash his father was. He constantly found ways  
to fuck up what little happiness any of his children could find. He should have known that Francis  
got the ambassador job for less than respectable reasons.

Mickey smirked, “Nah, I don’t think that would be looked at too kindly, but I’ll give him a little  
extra for you.”

“You’d do that for me?” He questioned, laughing and sniffling wetly, snuggling his face into  
Mickey’s neck.

“Do anything for you,” Mickey promised, “But, not gonna lie, this is something I’m gonna really  
fucking enjoy. Motherfucker’s complicating our lives.”

“Always complicates my life,” He murmured against his skin.

“I love you, too,” Mickey assured him, holding him tighter, “I’ll figure it out,” He promised.

Partially to Ian, but mostly to himself. He had to.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mickey could hear the ranting as soon as the guards turned down the hallway towards the torture  
chamber. Phrases like 'you've got the wrong guy' and 'I demand to know the meaning behind this'  
bounced off the walls and echoed in the air. He'd only had a few conversations with Francis, but it  
was exceedingly clear to him through those short correspondences that Ian and his father didn't  
have much in common. His boyfriend was as quiet as Francis was boisterous. When Ian spoke  
there was intention and meaning behind his words; a stark contrast from his father who seemed to  
be intent to fill the space with useless diatribes.

The King watched as the guards practically dragged Francis into the room, the older man  
stumbling and staggering in an obviously dramatized way. Shaking the guards off of him, he  
smoothed out his jerkin in a dignified manner and bowed to Mickey, "Your Grace."

"Hello Francis," The King greeted, his voice rife with contempt, "Glad you could make it. Gotta  
few questions to ask you."

"In all fairness, Your Grace, I didn't think I had the ability to opt out out of this particular meeting.  
If I misunderstood in any way I'm happy to get out of your hair and go about my business."

"I bet you are," Mickey stated with a wry smile, "Don't worry about my hair. When it comes to  
matters of the head, I'm a fucking expert."

Francis instinctively rubbed the back of his neck and looked nervously towards Charles, who  
quickly looked away.

"Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way," The King began rolling his dagger between  
his hands, "What's it gonna be?"

"Though I always love a good challenge, I think in this instance I should go with the easy way,"  
Francis replied, eyeing the rack laying forbiddingly behind the King.

"Good choice for you, but so much less fun for me," Mickey said with a click of the tongue,

"Don't know if you heard, but somehow King Sláine got his hands on my plan to invade the Isle  
of Man. You know anything about that?"

"Wow! You're kidding me!!" Francis exclaimed with such horrible acting skills it would have  
been comical if the King didn't want to gut the motherfucker like a fish, "This is my first time  
hearing of it. Sounds like you have a sneaky snake on your hands, Your Grace."

"It does, doesn't it?" The King hummed running his finger gingerly over the edge of his blade,  
"Know what I do with snakes?"

"Hmm?" He was growing more nervous by the minute, his theatrics beginning to wane as the fire  
in the King's blue eyes was fanned by his increased anger.

"Cut their heads off. Watch them wiggle around in pain until they die. I fucking love it, don't I  
Thomas?"

"He does," His friend confirmed from the corner of the room where he was standing next to the  
seated Cardinal Woolsmith.

Francis gulped, his hand making its way back to his neck protectively.

"Y'know snakes eat rats and it seems I gotta rat problem too. So I'm gonna need you to open your  
mouth and tell me what you know," Mickey prompted with a sniff.

The older man glanced at Charles again and then focused on the King, "With all due respect,  
Your Grace, you're ill informed to think I know something about this. Perhaps you should speak  
with my sons."

The prior anger that Mickey had felt paled in comparison to the fury that flooded his body when  
Francis implicated Ian and Lip. Without so much as moment's thought he plunged his knife into  
the man's side, causing him to double over in pain, blood pouring from the wound.

"Nah, I don't think so," Mickey tsked, "You see, it was your sons who tipped me off to your  
actions," he lied, knowing that he needed a reason to keep Ian there and showing an allegiance to  
the King seemed a good a reason as any.

"They're known liars," Francis gasped, the pain robbing him of his breath.

"That right?" Mickey lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He gestured for the guards to tie  
Francis up to the rack, "See, now I think you're fucking with me," he informed him as the guards  
dragged the sputtering man to the apparatus. They threw him down on the surface and quickly  
secured his wrists and ankles with the ropes, "and I don't fuck around like that. Y'know how this  
thing works?"

"I got an idea," Francis coughed, wincing in pain.

"Every time you lie to me my buddies here turn those wheels and the rope gets tighter. The more  
you lie, the tauter. Lie too much and you get ripped in half, you got it?" The King asked licking  
his lips. The injured man nodded his head, "Good. Let's get started." He turned to his uncle  
pointedly, "You paying attention?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Charles said, clearing his throat as he looked over the man strapped to the  
rack.

Mickey nodded, "So Francis, tell me where you got the information you gave to Sláine..."

"I told you I don't know what..." He started, bloodshot eyes pleading for belief.

"I told you what's gonna happen if you lie," Mickey said simply, signaling for the guards to crank  
the rope.

The stretch caused Francis to howl in pain.

"Can't feel good on the little scrape I gave you, huh?" The King taunted, nudging his nose with  
the pad of his finger, "Probably burning like a motherfucker right about now."

"Doesn't feel so great," Francis grunted, tears streaming down his weather worn face.

"How about we try this again, hmm?" He said, letting the tip of his dagger drag across the gash in  
the Francis' torso. The older man's body was trembling from the pain, "Where'd you get the  
information?"

"I don't know what..." he began again, but he was interrupted by the rope being pulled tighter. He  
wailed like a dying cat, completely overtaken by the agony, "Stop! Stop!"

"Got something to tell me?" The King questioned, noticing how long Francis' body looked. Only  
a few more pulls.

"It was Sully," He panted, whining with every brutal breath, "He told me the plan and I passed it  
onto His Grace."

"This is blasphemy!" Charles exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently, "There's no way my son  
would be involved in such a traitorous act.

The King shot him a deadly look, before telling the guards to stretch Francis further.

"I told you! I told you," The Irishman bellowed. His face turning bright red from the excruciating  
torture.

"Why'd you do it?" Mickey pressed, looking at his uncle but speaking to the man on the rack, "He  
promise you something when he usurps me?"

"Land," Francis cried, "He promised me land."

"And was anyone else involved, my uncle perhaps?" The King questioned, staring Charles dead  
in the eye. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that Sully wouldn’t have come up with the plan on his  
own. It was, after all, Charles that would benefit the greatest from Mickey’s fall.

"Your Grace," Charles barked aghast at the implication, "This man lies! He’s an old drunk. He  
cannot be trusted." Thomas rested a hand on Charles' shoulder, a wordless warning that he should  
hold his tongue.

"What d'you think Cardinal? His story matches up with the one his sons told me," Mickey stated  
simply, "Think I should believe him?"

"It seems that he is telling the truth and it would behoove you to take it as such," Cardinal  
Woolsmith said with a sigh, shaking his head at Charles when the man looked back at him.

“You didn’t answer my fucking question,” The King snapped, turning to the man on the rack  
once again, “Did Charles have anything to do with this? Was he involved in any way?”

“No,” Francis answered firmly, “Only Sully.”

“Give him some more,” Mickey directed the guards.

“I think this will be the final pull, Your Grace,” One of the men informed him, “Would you like us  
to proceed?”

“Did I slur my fucking words?” He asked unimpressed with the question.

“I swear!” Francis cried frantically, “I swear. Only Sully. That’s it. Please, please don’t! Please.”

When the guards cranked the rope an inhuman keening filled the room.

“Flexible,” Mickey noted when he saw that Francis was still in one piece, “So only Sully, then?”

The older man nodded, no longer able to produce words.

“Alright,” The King relented biting his lower lip in deliberation. He’d told Ian that he was going  
to fuck with his old man, but he never brought up killing him. With all the shit that went down  
with Gregory, he thought better of finishing him off without speaking to his boyfriend first,  
“Throw his scraggly ass in the Tower.”

The guards regarded him with surprised but nodded their understanding.

“Got the snake, now I gotta deal with the rat,” Mickey sighed, aggravated that a perfectly nice  
afternoon was ruined by such betrayals.

“Mikhailo,” Charles called just as the King was leaving the room.

Mickey turned and glared at his uncle, “Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” The older man corrected, desperation in his eyes, “I know you do not believe that  
your cousin is innocent of the alleged crime, but please, for all you do not know for sure, leave  
him with his life.”

Mickey looked at him with his face cold as stone, “Just as you left my father with his? He wasn’t  
fucking blood?”

Charles gasped at the accusation, “I would have never hurt my brother. How could you even  
imply such a thing?”

“Let me tell you something uncle,” Mickey hissed the term as he moved closer to the pleading  
man, “You’ve always thought I was too crude, too cruel, too impulsive and maybe I’ve given you  
reason to think those things about me- I ain’t gonna deny that.” He clicked his tongue and tilted  
his head as he grabbed onto the breast of his uncle’s jerkin and pulled him closer. “Your problem  
is you never saw past any of that to recognize that I am bright, cunning and not a motherfucker to  
mess with.”

The older man swallowed hard as Cardinal Woolsmith said, “Your Grace,” a reminder to exhibit  
caution.

“Your boy fucked with me and he’s gonna pay. You fuck me and I fuck you harder. You  
understand?”

His uncle shook his head, slowly, “Why do you show the Irish traitor leniency then? Why not pull  
the rope another inch?”

Mickey steeled himself, fighting to keep his control, “Did you bump your head and wake up with  
goddamn amnesia this morning? I’m still the King. I’m not gonna be questioned by the likes of  
you or anyone else. Maybe if you would’ve spent more time worried about your own son, he  
wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

Charles clenched his jaw in anger, but no words escaped his lips.

“Now, I’m gonna go teach that boy right from wrong.” He patted his uncle on his cheek before  
nodding for Thomas to come with him, “And it’s gonna be a bloody good time.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mickey hadn't taken the time to speak to Sully before deciding that he would be hung, drawn and  
quartered later that day. There was nothing he could say that would have changed his mind and  
Mickey wasn't interested in hearing his lies. Even though it was short notice, the Tower green was  
packed with onlookers. Ready to party, they drank mead and joked while cannabis and laughter  
filled the air.

"Why's he here?" Mickey asked when he saw Ian and Lip enter the courtyard, "I told you to tell  
him not to come." He was concerned that his boyfriend would get upset like he did during  
Gregory's execution and he didn't want to deal with the fallout. After his mindfuck of a day, he  
wanted to spend a lighthearted night with Ian, not trying to assuage his upset over something that  
had to be done.

"He said he wanted to. Told him it was the King's orders that he didn't," Thomas tisked, "The kid  
doesn't fucking listen."

"Tell me about it," Mickey said, hating that Ian was going to witness it, but loving his naughty  
streak. Though it could be problematic at time, his petulance turned him on. He didn't want to be  
with a pushover. He wanted somebody that challenged him, and fuck did his boyfriend do that.

"I don't have to tell you he's a liability, do I? I mean, set my mind at ease and tell me that you see  
it, but you're just choosing to ignore it. I wanna believe that there's still a sense of reason up there."

He tapped Mickey's temple, cussing the King to shove him off with a grin.

"He's fucking perfect," Mickey stated, watching as Ian rolled his eyes at something Lip had said  
and then laughed when his brother squeezed his side.

"Damn you got it bad, man. I thought that it was mostly physical to you. Didn't realize that you  
could, you know, feel that way about," he paused as if he was considering not finishing his  
statement, but the King's expression showed that he was anticipating the remainder of the  
thoughts, "a man."

"Yeah well, I didn't either," He admitted, "but I guess I can."

"So do you think you love him or something?" Thomas pressed, drawing a dirty look from his  
friend.

"I ain't gonna talk to you about this shit," He stated, turning his head so he could watch as the  
horse dragging Sully entered the Tower green. The crowd jeered and booed as he was hauled  
through it. His body, which was secured to a wooden panel, hopped and bobbed over the terrain,  
jostling with every movement. Once the horse reached the scaffold, a few guards loosened straps  
and held him upright. His face was cold and expressionless as he stood in front of the rowdy  
throng of people who had come to watch him die.

"Sullivan Milkovich, you have been sentenced to death for high treason. You've been found guilty  
of adhering to the sovereign's enemies and giving them aid," The sheriff stated, "Please  
everybody, move back from the scaffold so the convicted may speak."

There was shoving and yelling as the crowd followed the directive.

"You may say your piece," The Sheriff said, gesturing for the executioner to join them on the  
platform so he could loop the rope around Sully's neck. Though he was doing his best not to show  
his fear, his body was giving him away. His limbs shook like leaves in the winter wind and his  
eyes fought back the tears of realization that this was his demise.

"Christian men, I am born under the law and judged under the law, and now I will die under the  
law, for the law has condemned me. I do not come here to preach, but to die. I am a wretched  
sinner, and I have sinned shamefully against His Grace. I will not repeat my sins, for God knows  
all. Therefore, I pray that you learn from me, especially my lords and gentlemen of the court,  
beware of a fall, because it could very easily be you next. I pray to God the Father, the Son and  
the Holy Ghost, three persons and one God, that my death may be an example to you all. I ask  
both the King and God for forgiveness."

"He's laying it on thick," Thomas whispered to he King, who laughed lightly in response.

"Motherfucker thinks I'll let him hang if he shows enough contrition, but it ain't gonna fucking  
happen," Mickey scoffed "I'm gonna have his parts parboiled and stuck in the middle of town  
squares from here to Flintshire." He watched as two guards helped Cardinal Woolsmith to the  
platform.

"Heavenly Father, we lift up Sullivan today into your care. May you have mercy on his soul and  
deliver him from all evil. We pray in Jesus' name through Mary. Amen. Hail Mary,  
Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy  
womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.  
Amen."

As the Cardinal prayed, Mickey caught his boyfriend's eyes and lifted his eyebrows at the memory  
of Ian's struggle with the prayer. The redhead's face flushed as he glanced away a small smile  
playing on his lips.

Sully was stripped to the shirt with his arms bound in front of him as the ladder was turned. There  
were several gasps from the crowd as the traitor hung in mid-air. Just as he struggled for his last  
breath, he was lowered down for the next portion of his punishment.

Mickey locked eyes with his uncle, whose pleading could be seen beyond his wet gaze. Instead of  
showing sympathy, the King projected his anger and moved his focus back to his cousin's half  
conscious form. He watched as the executioner emasculated him, his manhood falling to the  
ground as he wailed in pain.

"He has been disinherited with corruption of blood," Cardinal Woolsmith reported dutifully to the  
crowd, that was now throwing rotten fruit in Sully's direction.

As the executioner made a small incision in the seizing man's stomach, Mickey stared at at Ian,  
worried that this would be too much for him. He was surprised to see his boyfriend watching the  
process intently, seemingly unfazed by the brutality. The King saw him flinch as Sully's entrails  
were removed and burned, but that was to be expected.

The convict's breathing was wheezy and slow as he was lowered to the block for his decapitation.  
Mickey observed as his uncle sighed his relief when the executioner's sword separated Sully's  
head from his body. The crowd erupted in cheers as his skull rolled onto the platform. "You told  
them to stake it in front of the castle?" The King asked Thomas, who nodded his confirmation.

"Good."

Ian had finally had enough. His eyes were closed when Mickey checked on him again. He hoped  
the redhead's reaction wouldn't be as intense as it had been before.

The corpse was picked up and laid down on the table so it could be quartered. The executioner  
made vertical cuts through the spine, removing the legs and then the arms, before slicing the body  
in four. The executioner held the parts up for the crowd to see before handing it to the men  
waiting to boil them.

"I've arranged for the right arm to go to the square in Bangor; the left arm to Newport; the right leg  
and hip to Swansea; the left leg and hip to Brecon," Thomas informed the King.

"Think Charles is shitting himself?" Mickey questioned as the people gathered began to file out.

"He should be," His friend replied with a shrug, "We may not have proof yet, but that doesn't  
mean we won't find it. It'll take time, but I think we will." He paused pushed a stray strand of hair  
off his "You decide what you're going to do about Francis?"

"Not yet. Gotta talk to Ian about it."

Thomas shook his head, "You make the decision based on what you think is best for you, not  
what your lover wants."

"What he wants is what's best for me," Mickey stated, "Like to keep him happy."

"That's... not how shit works," Thomas sighed, "He should be thinking that about you, not vice  
versa. You're the fucking King."

"It's his father," The King reminded him, "not just some random dude."

"You used to execute your lovers. Now you letting your lover decide who you should or shouldn't  
execute. What the fuck changed?"

"Me."

"Not gonna lie... makes me nervous," Thomas stated.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the club. Don't know what the fuck happened to me, but he's under my  
skin, man. The fuck can I do?"

"So how do we make sure that we keep this under control? Hmm? That nobody figures it out?"

He rested a hand on Mickey's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake, "Tell me."

"I'm keeping it low key," The King said, earning him a laugh from Thomas.

"C'mon now. He's in your bed every night."

"Would strap him there and never let him leave if I could," Mickey stated, raising his eyebrows  
lecherously, "Tie those wrists up...."

"Alright, alright," Thomas chuckled, "enough already."

"Such a prude," Mickey chided, nodding at the Sheriff who was asking for permission to  
approach, "I'll let you know about Francis tomorrow."

"After you check with your keeper?" His friend taunted.

"If he keeps me, I'll be fucking lucky," Mickey stated with an easy smile, "Think the plan is we're  
gonna keep each other."

"Well, I hope you do then."

"Me too," The King agreed, gazing at his boyfriend who was leaning against the stone wall  
looking back at him, "Me too."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ian held him close, his torso flush against the King’s back as his arms crossed protectively over his  
broad chest; two moving as one. The sheets had long since been pushed off the bed, the room too  
sweltering as it was, made warmer by pale bodies melting together, no sign of where one man  
ended and the other began.

“Is breá liom tú,” Ian confessed into the nape of his lover’s neck, lips lingering on the dewy skin,  
moist with beads of sweat and the perspiration of his breath.

“I love you, too,” Mickey rasped, voice stifled by the emotion behind the sentiment; words  
anchored by the weight of overflowing hearts. Grinning contentedly when his boyfriend craned  
around to catch his lips, their tongues established the final connection, all limbs and muscles  
intertwined. He moaned into Ian’s mouth as the redhead pushed deeper inside of him, searching  
for the spot that shook his knees and caused pleasure to surge through him like a wave, “Got it,  
Ian. Right there,” He gasped, body quivering under the fingertips that were now dragging down  
his arm. The short, pointed pulses Ian delivered against his prostate had him unraveling,  
gratification pouring over him as he spilled his seed. He threw his head back in ecstasy, panting  
for breath as his boyfriend licked and kissed up the exposed skin of his neck.

Ian slid two fingers into his lover’s open mouth, mewling when the King closed around them and  
sucked dutifully. His hot, wet tongue swirled circles around the digits, driving Ian crazy. “Mmm,”  
He hummed overwhelmed by being completely engulfed by Mickey. It took only a few more  
thrusts to have him emptying inside his lover, filling him up with his release. They remained  
adhered to each other for some time, cherishing the closeness that they reached in their blissed out  
state.

When Mickey finally rolled over to face him, Ian was greeted by a sweet, sated smile, “Damn  
you’re cute,” He crooned, kissing those upturned lips tenderly.

“Fuck off,” The brunet chuckled, squinting his eyes and nose as his boyfriend peppered his  
flushed face with playful pecks, “Ain’t cute. Kings can’t be cute.”

“Then you shouldn’t be allowed to be the King cause you’re the cutest.” He laughed when  
Mickey shoved him away, fighting to pull him in closer to plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey groused, tickling Ian’s sides as he continued to drone on about how  
adorable he was, “Enough already.”

“You’re shitty at taking compliments, you know that?” He questioned, rolling onto his back and  
resting his hands on his own chest.

“Aw, you’re gonna be like that now, huh?” Mickey teased, moving the redhead’s long arms  
before climbing on top of him so he could rest his cheek on his chest. He grinned when he felt his  
boyfriend’s limbs wrap around him once again, “Pouty bitch,” he hummed without malice as Ian  
rubbed his back soothingly.

“You love it,” Ian stated genially, relishing in the pressure of his lover’s body against his.

“I really fucking do,” The King laughed, “You’re a fucking handful, but I ain’t gonna lie, like  
how you keep me on my toes.”

“Gotta be on your toes to reach my lips,” Ian taunted, shrieking with giggles as Mickey grabbed  
his cheeks and squeezed them together roughly, blue eyes boring into green.

“Gonna say that to my face? Huh?” He demanded playfully, smacking his lips against his  
boyfriend’s pucker, “Looks like I can get to them just fine.” The redhead tried to bite at his fingers  
unsuccessfully. “Look stupid all squished up trying to go for a fucking nibble, Gallagher.” He  
gave him one last smooch and went back to his resting position.

“You keep my hands full, too,” Ian mused grasping onto Mickey’s butt with a grunt, “All that  
ass.”

The King just rolled his eyes and licked his lips. “Seems like you’re in a good mood.”

“I’m with you. Why wouldn’t I be?” Ian questioned, tilting his head down a bit to bury his face  
into Mickey’s hair. He inhaled, letting the familiar scent permeate his nose and intoxicate him.

“I dunno,” Mickey replied with a shrug, “All that shit that happened today.”

“With Sully?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Not gonna lie. It was brutal and pretty difficult to watch, but he deserved it,” Ian said easily, “So  
I guess it made it different to me than before.” He sighed at the memory of Gregory’s execution,  
wondering if he would ever be able to fully push the images out of his mind, “I wouldn’t expect  
anything different for high treason.”

“Yeah, well, if there’s any time to fucking make an example outta someone that’s it. Can’t let  
everyone else think that shit’s alright.”

“You don’t have to…” He paused, raking his fingers through Mickey’s hair gingerly, “defend it. I  
get it. Believe me I get it. Are you upset about it at all? I mean, you grew up with him, was it  
difficult for you?”

“Nah, I think I was born hating that motherfucker,” Mickey replied, closing his eyes to enjoy the  
comforting touch, “Dreamed about today in a million ways.”

“Was it all you hoped for?” Ian asked with a laugh.

“And more,” Mickey confirmed, “Charles is on a fucking tear. Thomas told me he’s ranting and  
raving to any noble that’ll listen, saying the dickhead didn’t get enough consideration because I  
didn’t talk to him beforehand, but I don’t give a fuck, got everything I needed. Gonna let him keep  
running his mouth and let him hang himself with his own rope, then mine.”

They grew quiet, focusing on the synchronized beats of their hearts as they cuddled close to one  
another.

“What about Francis?” Ian asked softly, just as Mickey was about to drift to sleep.

“What about him?” The King questioned drowsily, yawning as soon as his mouth opened to utter  
the words.

“What’re you gonna do about him?” He ventured.

“D’you wanna talk about this now?”

“I take it you don’t.”

“We can,” Mickey relented, moving off of Ian so he could rest his cheek on the same pillow as his  
boyfriend, “I think you know what I gotta do.”

“I know he didn’t leave you with much of a choice…” Ian began, his voice trailing off as though  
he had more thoughts on the matter, but was tentative to relay them.

“Sounds like you wanna throw a ‘but’ in there,” The King noted, trying to prepare himself for the  
rest of Ian’s statement. While many decisions regarding executions were complicated, Francis’  
pending fate was pretty straightforward.

“I fucking hate him,” He stated simply, “Tá sé fós mo athair.” He shook his head realizing he'd  
spoke in Gaelic, "He's still my father."

“I had a deadbeat for a dad, too.” Mickey placed his hand fondly on Ian’s cheek, “I promise you,  
you may think you’re gonna feel a certain way when he’s finally outta your life, but all you’re  
gonna feel is relief.” He looked earnestly into his boyfriend’s eyes, “Like a fucking awesome  
amount of relief.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” Mickey confirmed with a nod, “Maybe you think if your old man’s still around he  
may get it together, be proud of you one day, realize his mistakes…” He paused and dragged his  
fingers down Ian’s neck cradling the nape, “but he fucking won’t. That’s not how guys like them  
work, man. They just keep disappointing you until you’re too fucking numb to acknowledge the  
letdown anymore. When they're gone, you don’t gotta worry about it. They can’t fuck with you  
from the grave.”

“They could though,” Ian replied sincerely, “I mean, if they were ghosts or whatever, they could  
still come back and fuck with us. Move shit around, snuff out candles; make us think we were  
going mad.”

“That’s…” Mickey sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, “like, so far from the  
fucking point, baby. The fuck is it with you and goddamn ghosts anyway?”

Ian shrugged, “You never think about them?” When Mickey shook his head ‘no’, he clicked his  
tongue with condescension, “When we were younger, my sister Fiona and I tried all these pagan  
ceremonies to try to get spirits to come hang out with us.” He ignored the shocked look on his  
boyfriend’s face, “Never worked, though.”

“No shit? You invited ghosts to come chill with you and they didn’t show up?” Mickey mocked  
with eyebrows raised, “Y’know, you’re lucky I love your crazy ass. If I didn’t I’d have to burn  
you for being a heretic.”

“Tell me more romantic things,” Ian prompted with a chuckle, “C’mon. It turns me on when you  
talk about burning me at the stake.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and ruffled up Ian’s hair.

“I don’t know about Francis,” Ian said with a frustrated sigh, “You’re gonna do whatever you  
have to do and I won’t blame you. It just feels weird to say I’m alright with it. You don’t need my  
permission,” he reminded the King.

“I know I don’t need your fucking permission, but I don’t want to go forward with it risking  
you’re gonna have a reaction like you did before. That dumb piece of shit ain’t worth me losing  
you,” Mickey explained, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. Aside from his obvious infractions,  
he wanted to kill Ian’s dad just for putting them in this position. He wanted to have one fucking  
week where they didn’t have to deal with some bullshit. They’d been through enough trials and  
tribulations.

“Not gonna lose me. I promise,” The redhead assured him, leaning over to close the small space  
between them. He nuzzled his nose against his boyfriend’s before leaning in to kiss him lovingly,  
“You got me for good.”

“For good, for good?” Mickey questioned, trying to hold back the grin that was dying to take over  
his lips.

Ian narrowed his eyes skeptically and nodded, unsure where the King was going with the  
question.

“Like, if you die before me, are you gonna come back and haunt my ass even if I don’t do pagan  
rituals to get you there.”

The redhead laughed loudly, “Oh for sure. Gonna pinch your ass while you fuck other dudes and  
flick your balls and shit.”

“Not gonna fuck any other guys. I’ll become a fucking priest or something.”

“Oh yeah? With a mouth like that?”

Mickey shrugged with a chuckle, “You’re really gonna complain about my mouth after what it did  
for you earlier?” He challenged.

“Fair point,” Ian acquiesced, “Who said I’m gonna die before you anyway? Hmm?”

“You’re not going to if I got any power over it.”

“I guess I’d have to go first for us to be together forever anyway. You don’t believe in ghosts so  
you wouldn’t come back and haunt me,” He said with mock sadness.

“Fuck yes I would. If I was dead I’d find a way to come back to you. Ghost fuck you or  
whatever,” Mickey promised.

“That’s not actually a thing,” Ian scoffed with a giggle, “Ghosts don’t fuck.”

“How the fuck do you know what they do? You’ve never successfully summoned one, heretic.”

“Y’know I’m beginning to think you’re not as cute anymore,” Ian stated with a click of his  
tongue.

“I’ll show you how fucking cute I am,” Mickey said lecherously, climbing on top of Ian.

“Fuck me like you’d ghost fuck me. Show me what it’s gonna be like,” Ian prompted with a shit  
eating grin on his face.

At the statement, Mickey completely lost it falling onto Ian with a fit of laughter, “You’re too  
fucking much.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It was strange how much had changed over the last two days, yet everything had found a way to  
remain the same. Though their world seemed to shift on its axis, Ian and Mickey were right back  
where everything began. They stared longingly at each other as the Court danced and reveled,  
unaware that there were two hearts reaching across the crowded Hall for each other.

“He’s so handsome, right?” Ian whispered to Lip as they ate their dinner. His eyes had been glued  
on Mickey for most of the night and he’d barely been able to stop himself from sliding underneath  
of him on his throne and fucking up into his ass.

“I mean…” Lip cringed taking a bite of his duck, “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t mean you like cock if you admit it,” Ian said with a laugh, “You have eyes don’t you?  
Don’t know how you could deny it?”

“I don’t look at dudes that way,” His brother said simply, “Not wired like that.”

“I can look at a woman and see that she’s beautiful. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna want to fuck her  
anything.”

“Alright then,” Lip said leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of wine, “Point out a woman  
you think is attractive.”

“Easy. The Princess.”

“That’s such a fucking cop out,” Lip chided with a grin, “She looks exactly like your boyfriend.  
You can’t pick her. Gotta be somebody else.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and then used them to scan the room, “Her.” He pointed to a brunette  
girl dancing with Thomas.

“Her?” Lip asked skeptically.

“Mmmhmm,” Ian replied looking over the tall, wafer thin woman with delicate features and dark  
green eyes. He nodded feeling settled with his choice.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing you like dudes,” He laughed, “Cause you got shitty fucking taste in  
women.”

“Oh yeah? You fuck them and got worse taste,” Ian retorted, “What about Angie Zhago?”

“Told you not to bring that shit up again,” Lip huffed defensively, “I was going through a fucking  
drought and my hand wasn’t cutting it. You don’t hear me bringing up donkey dick, Roger  
Spikey, do you?”

“You just fucking did,” Ian groused, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I was just illustrating equivalence.”

“Y’know when you say shit like that you remind me of Francis,” The redhead informed him,  
earning him a punch in the arm from his brother, “Fuck that hurt, prick.” He rubbed his aching  
arm and caught sight of the King looking over at him with the devil in his eyes. He waved off his  
concern and turned back to Lip.

“That was a low blow. I should’ve punched you in the face,” He groused, tossing the wishbone  
onto Ian’s lap, “So you don’t get laid for like ten hours and you’re a total asshole?”

“Who said it’s been ten hours?” Ian teased, sticking out his tongue salaciously.

“What’re you doing with that thing?” Mandy questioned with a smirk as she approached their  
table. Both man scrambled to their feet to bow to her.

“Don’t think you wanna know,” Lip stated once he stood up straight.

“Fair point,” The Princess concurred, turning to the redhead, “Would you like to dance with me  
Irish Ian?”

“Of course,” He grinned, “but I think just Ian is good after all that, you know, Ireland shit…”

“Another fair point,” Mandy nodded, “Man, you Gallagher boys are pretty bright.”

She laughed when Ian took her hand to lead her into the middle of the crowded dance floor. As he  
spun her around playfully, her dark hair flipped and flowed through the air. He smiled at how full  
of mirth her blue eyes were as she moved to the upbeat piano music, “You love him don’t you?”  
She whispered when he pulled her close to him, her lips millimeters from his ear.

“Profoundly,” Ian confessed, gazing over her shoulder at the King and Thomas who, from the  
look on Mickey’s face, were bantering about something that was pushing his buttons. He found it  
insanely charming how easily pressed he was; his cranky King.

“Then you need to tell him you’re alright with him executing Francis,” Mandy urged, squeezing  
his upper arms and looking into his eyes earnestly, “He doesn’t think you’re okay with it and he’s  
nervous. He can’t afford to second guess this stuff, especially with Charles on this emotional  
rampage. He needs to be firm and strong.”

“I get it,” Ian promised, “I told him that I understood that he had to do it.”

“Well tell him again,” She implored, “more convincingly. Mickey’s taking too long to give the  
order. People are already suspicious why Francis is still alive and the leeriness is building.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight,” He assured her, understanding the implications of public perception.  
Giving the ‘go ahead’ for the execution of his father made him feel sick, but there was no way that  
he would put that bastard’s safety above Mickey’s. He focused on his boyfriend to draw his eyes  
and when Mickey glanced at him, Ian nodded towards the door, a signal. The King bit his lower  
lip to hold back his smirk and nudged his nose with his knuckle, averting his eyes.  
It was mere moments later that the music stopped and the King's departure was announced.

"That quick, huh?" Mandy laughed heartily, "You guys got a secret code?"

"Something like that," The redhead admitted with a grin, bowing as the King stood. The revelry  
continued after Mickey left the room and Ian finished his dance with Mandy before following  
Henry up the twisting staircase to the hallway that led to his boyfriend's chambers.

"Fucking need it, huh Gallagher?" The King asked with raised eyebrows as Ian entered the room.

"Mmm, I really fucking do," He confirmed, sliding his hands behind Mickey's head and pulling  
him in for a passionate kiss. Their tongues worked their way around the other's mouths as they  
made up for hours spent apart.

"Gonna do what we talked about earlier?" Mickey questioned, licking his lips wantonly at the  
thought.

"Goddamn you have the sexiest lips," Ian crooned leaning down to grip his boyfriend's bottom lip  
with his teeth and pull it out lecherously, "We're doing it. It's been on my mind all day. Do you  
have the ties?"

"On the bed," The brunet replied as Ian eagerly untied his pants.

"Then why aren't you there already?" Ian questioned with a smirk, yanking off his chemise and  
then his boyfriend's, "Let's go."

"Alright, alright," Mickey laughed as Ian spanked his ass and guided him to the bed. The drapes  
were already tied back to allow more airflow, which the King was sure they'd need.

"Spread your arms and legs," The redhead directed, rubbing his hands down his boyfriend's bare  
torso, "Mmm, got the best fucking body, Mick." He tugged on the King's hard cock, "Just gonna  
take a quick taste."

"Take your time," Mickey grinned, gazing down at his lover through hooded eyes as he took him  
into his mouth and sucked him hungrily, "Fucking love it, don't you?"

Ian moaned in response, bringing him further down his throat. When he felt the King's hands  
tangle into his hair he sat up abruptly, reminded of his plan. He lifted his eyebrows impishly as he  
crawled up his lover's body. "Don't want you to be able touch. Wanna drive you crazy."

"You always do," Mickey hummed, watching as his boyfriend grabbed the silk ties that were  
lying on the bed and tied his wrists together before tethering them to the wrought iron headboard.

He made his way back down so he could wrap the ties around his ankles. Holding the last tie up,  
he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"You're gonna get too loud," He teased, not giving a fuck how vocal he was, but wanting to see  
him bound up, "Think I gotta do it."

"Do it then," The King smirked admiring his boyfriend's body as he hovered over him to slide the  
tie between his lips and knot it behind the crown of his head.

"Fuck, look so hot, Mick," Ian praised, taking a moment to appreciate the view before licking his  
way down his man's perfect body.

Mickey body buzzed with anticipation as Ian lifted his ankles with one of his big hands and laid  
them over his shoulder so he could gain access to his ass. He heard his own muffled moans filling  
the room as his boyfriend ate him open like a pro. The frustration of not being able to touch him,  
mixed with the pleasure being delivered by Ian's tongue was delicious torture.  
He instinctively bucked to indicate his readiness, garnering an unimpressed tisk from Ian who was  
still buried in his ass, "Don't forget you gave up control," He stated his voice deadened by skin.

Mickey groaned and attempted to break his wrists free from the restraints.

"Bad boy," Ian chided, lifting his head to give his boyfriend a naughty look, "Shouldn't give you  
this cock." He pulled him up to his knees and began pumping his dick, smiling at the King's  
whine of protest, "But I'm feeling generous."

Mickey glared at him, a clear message that Ian revived.

The redhead held his feet up with his right hand as he positioned his cock at his entry with the left.  
In one fluid movement he plunged into Mickey, pushing into the hilt. The King let out a scream  
that sounded more like a keen thanks to the gag. Ian leaned back a bit so he could watch his cock  
move in and out of his boyfriend's perfect ass. He built up speed, loving the whines falling from  
Mickey's lips.

A slight racket jarred him and he looked at the headboard that was banging against the wall and  
kept hitting it.

"Take it so good for me, don't you baby?" He panted as he fucked Mickey aggressively. He could  
feel sweat dripping down his chin and falling onto his chest before streaming down his abs, but he  
kept driving into him harder. His boyfriend's eyes were rolling back in their sockets as his body  
jostled and jumped from the force, "Take my cock so good." He felt a familiar tightening in his  
balls warning him to slow down or he'd lose it before he wanted to. Still he kept pounding, barely  
hearing the chamber door when it swung open.

"Sodomizers!" The man screamed sending chills up and down the lovers' bodies as they froze in  
place, ice running through their veins, "Sodomizers!"

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"Cac," Ian cried, scrambling off Mickey and attempting to cover his erection that was more intent  
to announce its presence than to go unseen.

"Filthy sinners," Charles cried, aghast at the scene before him, "I suspected it but I still cannot  
believe the sight of it."

Mickey thrashed on the bed, trying to break himself free as he shouted obscenities that were  
muffled by the silk tie in his mouth.

Though Ian felt that he was out of his body floating above the room and observing the shitshow  
below, he made himself move to untie his boyfriend who immediately sprung up mad as a hornet.

"You wanna fucking die?" He growled, seemingly unfazed that he was standing on his bed,  
naked as the day he was born, yelling at his uncle and Lord Barkley. The man who lacked relation  
was so mortified that he did in fact look like he wanted to die, "Cause you're about to."

"I think you've got that backwards, my dear nephew," Charles scoffed, watching as the redhead,  
who was now a darker shade of crimson than his hair, tossed the King his shirt and pants before  
pulling on his own.

Mickey hastily threw on his clothes before jumping off the bed and getting in Charles' face, "Last  
I checked you weren't the fucking King. Wanna tell me the last time you ordered an execution?"  
He jeered, voice steeped in sarcasm, "Or do you want me tell you about mine, hmmm?"

The older Milkovich bristled at the reminder of his son's demise and snarled, "You accused him of  
being in bed with the country when you were the one bedding Ireland."

"You see, the difference is...," Mickey began with a sardonic grin, "I fuck him, not Wales. Your  
piece of shit son fucked my country, so I had to castrate him and show everyone what happens  
when you fuck with me," He turned to Lord Barkley, who looked significantly more flustered  
than Charles did, "You were there, right Barks? Remember what it looks like when I get angry?"

The nobleman nodded solemnly as if the images of the Sully's execution the day before would  
never leave his mind.

"You lost your power the moment you lost your bible and forgot that sodomy is a wicked sin,"  
Charles admonished, glaring at Mickey for a moment before fixing his narrowed eyes on Ian.

The redhead immediately looked to the floor, unable to stop his head from spinning as his breaths  
got short. He could hear Mickey snapping at Charles not to look in his direction, but everything  
sounded fuzzy as if they were hundred of leagues under the sea and the water was boiling. He  
was so hot. Why was he so hot? Before he knew it he was lying on something cool, staring up  
into Mickey and Thomas' faces.

"You alright, Ian?" The King asked, ocean blue eyes rife with concern.

"I don't know... where I am," He bemoaned, feeling as though he was wading through a thick  
haze.

"You're on the floor," Mickey informed him, squeezing his wrist discreetly, "Think you passed  
out."

Henry, Thomas, Cardinal Woolsmith, and two guards had just entered the King's chambers when  
they all heard the thud of Ian's body hitting the ground.

"Are we really pausing this conversation so he can attend to his male lover?" Charles exclaimed in  
disbelief.

"Fuck you," Mickey spat turning over his shoulder to lock eyes with his uncle, "Fuck you," he  
said moving onto Lord Barkley, "and especially fuck you," he shot at Henry, who had shoved a  
few cotton balls into his bleeding nose, "You forget how to do your fucking job?" He looked at  
the guards and angrily held his hands up as if waiting for answer. He sighed and shook his head.

"Hold him, alright?" He directed Thomas as he gave Ian one last look over before standing up to  
face the group of people who he wanted to tear apart limb by limb for various reasons.

"Your Grace, the Duke told us he had urgent news regarding Mary for the Lord Chamberlain,"

One of the guards relayed, "He said the child was sick and in dire need of care."

Mickey gave his uncle a disgusted look, "That's pretty fucked up," He chided, "I wouldn't even  
do that shit."

Charles shrugged, nonplussed, "I noticed that he followed you out of the Hall just as he had so  
many times before and knew that we had to act quick. The means supports the ends, you should  
understand that better than anybody."

"Lord Barkley punched me," Henry rattled, his voice nasal due to the obstructing wads.

"So you ran to your daddies?" Mickey questioned gesturing to Thomas and then to Cardinal  
Woolsmith."

"Thomas was privy to the circumstances surrounding the matter and I thought we all would  
benefit from the Cardinal's guidance and mediation," Henry defended, repositioning his cotton  
balls in a way that made Mickey even more aggravated.

"Don't need mediation. Just gotta schedule Charles' execution," The King stated plainly, making  
his way across the room to help Cardinal Woolsmith into the chair. He flipped his fingers up at the  
guards, deciding that they were most useless humans he ever came into contact with, "Y'know  
you dumbasses constantly got your head up your asses."

"Speaking of heads up posteriors," Charles began, hurdling through the opening that Mickey had  
left, "Sodomy is still a considered an unforgivable sin, correct Cardinal?"

"It is," The elderly man confirmed, looking at the King sullenly.

Mickey averted his eyes, unable to handle the disappointment in the Cardinal's gaze.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, Cardinal, but if the Pope were to hear that a King was participating  
in such acts he would deem it necessary to excommunicate him from the church, yes?" Charles  
pressed, giving his nephew a smut look reminiscent of the one that often graced his son's face.  
Cardinal Woolsmith nodded slowly, frail hands shaking as he brought a handkerchief up to wipe  
his nose.

"And if His Disgraced was excommunicated he would be considered a heretic, which is  
punishable by a burning at the stake, right?"

"That is the punishment," The Cardinal validated, watching as the color drained from Mickey's  
face.

"As a man of the cloth, Cardinal, you are bound by the Lord to relay truthfulness in all  
circumstances, especially those that have to do with egregious behavior that would threaten the  
morals and values of the country. When I send word to the Pope, you will be compelled to  
confirm it, will you not?"

"I will," The old man affirmed sadly, "Unless we go about this in a different way."

Mickey raised his eyebrows in interest, knowing no matter how much he was aching to posture  
and throw his power around, he was holding a losing hand. "Yeah, what's that?" He questioned,  
gnawing on his bottom lip anxiously.

"Charles, what is your goal? What do you want?" The Cardinal asked directly.

"I want revenge. I want Mikhailo's head and the crown that sits upon it," The man stated angrily,  
glaring at his nephew with fury behind his eyes.

"Charming," Thomas muttered, garnering a look of warning from the Cardinal and a shake of the  
head from Mickey, who was painfully aware that he couldn't protect him.

"And Your Grace, what is your goal? The one thing you desire above all else? Is it your crown?"

The Cardinal questioned, aware of the answer he would receive.

"Ian," Mickey replied softly. The jaws of the men in the room hung open in shock at the  
admission, including the redhead's, "It's Ian."

The Cardinal nodded, the only man among them who had been expecting the result, "Then I  
propose that everybody gets what they want in some regard. Charles, you will wear the heavy  
crown and Mikhailo you will abscond to Ireland and make a life for yourself there. Is everybody  
agreeable to those terms?"

"Absolutely not!" Charles protested, "The throne is rightfully mine and my nephew must pay in  
blood."

"Oh fuck you, you sack of shit. If we're gonna talk about sins, why don't we talk about yours,  
huh? Adultery is still one of them, right Cardinal?" Mickey snapped.

As the Cardinal nodded, Thomas mumbled, "Mick." The King turned around to see his best friend  
sitting on the ground, steadying his boyfriend, who looked to be in a stupor from his panic attack,

"Just fucking shut your mouth, alright?"

Mickey flipped him the finger, but turned back to the conversation determined to shut the fuck up.

"He will not pay in blood," The Cardinal informed Charles, who was taken aback by the  
forcefulness of the frail man's statement, "For if he does, then you may suffer the same fate. We  
are all sinners and while Mikhailo's actions are egregious and disgusting, he hurts nobody but  
himself. It is he who will be denied entry to Heaven." Mickey grimaced at the thought, but kept  
his mouth shut. "The blood on his hands is only his own," The older man continued, "If you were  
to have blood on your hand, Charles, would it be your own or your country's?"

Charles was stunned by the accusation, "Are you implying that I had something to do with the  
collusion in regards to Ireland without any evidence, Cardinal?"

"I'm simply stating that there may always be evidence found if one searches hard enough to find  
it," Cardinal Woolsmith replied, "Do you find the terms agreeable?"

"I would be King?" Charles clarified, "Free and clear?"

"You'll learn that the King is never fucking free," Mickey stated, feeling a sense of relief. Soon his  
uncle would trapped under the crown, "What I have makes me free, not what asshole usurpers  
seek." He glanced over his shoulder at his boyfriend, who was beginning to get some color back  
in his face.

"Free and clear," The Cardinal confirmed, grinning slightly when Charles nodded his head in  
affirmation.

"And Mikhailo, are the terms agreeable to you?"

"Want Mandy to come with me," He said, "not gonna leave her here to be under his rule. She has  
the last of the royal blood. Not gonna have him send her as a barter for beans and make her some  
prick's wife."

"She brings shame to my name. I will happily exile her," Charles scoffed, "You can take any of  
the scum you associate with. I just want you all out tonight."

"It ain't exile if she's choosing to go," Mickey informed him, "And you don't gotta tell me twice.  
Not gonna stick around for long enough to watch you burn the place to the ground with your  
fucking old school policies," Mickey stated with a snarl, "Gonna grab my shit, piss all over the  
fucking bed and jizz on the crown."

"Mikhailo," Cardinal Woolsmith warned with an exasperated sigh, "So it's a deal then?"

Both men nodded.

"That's that," The Cardinal decided, slowly rising to his feet, "C'mon Charles, walk me to my  
quarters and give His Grace time to pack," He turned to Mickey, "I expect you will visit my  
chambers before you embark on your journey. No matter the time."

Mickey nodded, sniffing slightly at the thought of saying 'goodbye' to him.  
Before he made his way out of the room, he turned to Ian, who was now standing, but leaning  
against the wall to support his shaky knees.

"You have the devil's red hair," He accused, anger clouding his face as he held the cross that hung  
around his neck, "Debaucher."

Ian looked back at him perplexed, unsure how to respond. He was about to tell him to 'fuck off'  
when he got an elbow to the ribs from Thomas, "You're still easy to execute. Don't forget that,"

He whispered, "You're lucky you're keeping that head attached to your body. The luck of the Irish  
and all that."

Ian bit his tongue so hard that he thought it may split. What luck.

Chapter Forty

“What the fuck did you do?” Ian cried, his body trembling from the adrenaline that was coursing  
through it, “What the fuck did you do?” He gaped at Mickey, his green eyes wild with realization  
of what his boyfriend had just sacrificed, “How could you?” He drew in a shaky breath as he  
watched the brunet pace the room, the heels of his hands pressed into his eye sockets.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, rubbing Ian’s back in an attempt to mollify him, “He didn’t have a  
choice.”

“Yes he did!” Ian protested, “We could have stayed. Fought.”

“Ian,” Thomas warned, but it was too late.

“What fucking world do you live in?” Mickey shouted, taking the redhead by surprise, “I was  
done. Done, done, done. Ain’t no coming back from that. Motherfucker brought the Pope into it.  
You wanna stand in front of the Pope and fucking lie?” He paused, licking his lips and looking at  
his boyfriend’s sad face. “Actually, it probably wouldn’t make a difference to your heretic-ass, but  
I can’t fucking do it.”

“There’d be a slim chance he’d get to keep his crown,” Thomas explained, “If by some miracle he  
did, there’d be no way you could stay in Wales. You’d either need to be executed or exiled.”

“And that ain’t gonna fucking happen,” Mickey sniffed, making his way towards Ian.

“So what? You’re gonna come live with me in Galway? Just like that?” The redhead questioned,  
resting his eyelids and exhaling as Mickey rested a hand on his cheek.

“Got a fucking problem with that, Gallagher?”

When Ian’s eyes shot open he was caught off guard by the smirk he saw on Mickey’s lips,

“What… no. Of course not,” He replied, humming when the brunet slotted his mouth against his.  
Thomas watched, equally in awe and discomfort, as the two men kissed passionately inches away  
from his face. They melted into each other with abandon as if everything else in the world  
vanished and all that was left was their love. Fingers tangled in hair as they found the comfort they  
sought. They peeled their lips apart but their blown out eyes remained fixed.

“Are you alright?” Ian whispered, resting his forehead against the brunet’s.

“Will be once we get the fuck outta here,” Mickey assured him, “Remember what I told you about  
Gregory? How it was only a matter of time for him?”

Ian nodded.

“It was only a matter of time for us too,” He said simply, giving his boyfriend a peck before  
pulling away and turning to Thomas, “Can you grab a bag and throw all my casual shirts and  
pants in there? Along with all the gems and gold you can get your hands on.”

“Got it,” Thomas stated beginning to go to work.

“You wanna come?” Mickey asked as he untied his pants and made his way to the corner. He  
began to piss in the crack where the wood met the baseboard.

“To Ireland?” His best friend questioned skeptically as he sorted through Mickey’s drawers. He  
looked over his shoulder when he heard Ian laughing hysterically, “MICK!” He exclaimed.

“Like you fucking wouldn’t,” Mickey shot back holding his free hand up so he could give his  
friend the finger. He walked slowly saturating the length of the wall, “Whip it out Gallagher, get  
the other side,” He prompted, smiling when his boyfriend grinned devilishly at him and began to  
loosen his pants.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Thomas chided, gawking at the redhead who was now peeing on the  
other side of the room.

“You talking about the size of his cock or the way that he’s using it?” Mickey attempted to clarify,  
“Cause both are pretty fucking impressive.”

“This is the weirdest night of my life,” The brown eyed man muttered as he cleared out as many  
of his friend’s things as he could.

“So you gonna come?” Mickey repeated a few minutes later when Thomas tossed him the  
overstuffed bag.

“You know I’m not,” He replied with a click of his tongue and a frown, “It’s Wales for me, man.  
My whole life is here. Always has been.”

“Mine too.”

“Yeah, but now you got a new one,” He stated, gesturing towards Ian, who looked away with  
pink cheeks.

Mickey nodded his understanding as he studied the face of the man who had been his best friend  
and confidant for as long as he could remember. While other little boys were running after girls to  
pull at their pigtails, the young Prince was chasing after Thomas. “So is this goodbye?”

“Seems like it,” The knight said, impulsively wrapping his friend up in a tight hug, “Gonna miss  
you, Mick.”

“Yeah, don’t get fucking sappy on me,” Mickey groused, sniffing to hold back his emotion,

“Gotta go talk to the Cardinal. Don’t wanna deal with your stupid shit, before I gotta deal with his  
stupid shit.”

“So tender,” Thomas teased, shaking his head at the familiar scowl on his friend’s face.

“Take Ian back to his chambers so he can get his shit and tell Lip to pack his,” Mickey directed,  
turning back to look at his boyfriend who was now lying face down on the bed, presumably trying  
to soak in as much of its comfort as he was able to. “Worried that some motherfucker will make an  
attempt at him and he’s blown out. Watch his back.”

“Got it,” Thomas assured him as Mickey walked over to his boyfriend and rested his hand on his  
back. Ian looked up at him, green eyes displaying his exhaustion after crashing down from such  
intense emotions.

“You’re gonna go with Thomas, alright? I’ll see you down by the docks soon.” He gave him a  
sweet kiss and a pat on his cheek before exiting his chambers for the last time.

“You ready Your Grace?” One of the guards asked.

“The fuck are you still doing here? Certainly weren’t doing your fucking job before,” He  
admonished as he walked by them. They hurried to catch up to him.

“We’re making sure that you make it to the boat safely,” He replied, “About before…”

“Got enough shit on my mind right now. Don’t got time to listen to whatever dumbass excuses  
you’re about to spew,” He stated, giving the man an aggravated look, “Walk behind me and don’t  
fucking talk.”

“Yes Your Grace,” He said dutifully, falling back.

As Mickey walked down the hallway to Cardinal Woolsmith’s chambers, his legs began to feel  
leaden. He didn’t want to go there, to do this, but he knew he had to. He knocked lightly on the  
door and opened it when he heard the Cardinal call “Come in.”

“Are you going to sit down?” The old man asked from his chair.

Mickey shook his head solemnly.

“Didn’t think so,” He mused with a weak smile, “I spoke with your sister. She’s packing now and  
to say she’s displeased would be an understatement.”

“Fuck, I’m really looking forward to dealing with her bitchy ass,” Mickey scoffed sarcastically,  
muttering an apology for his language when the Cardinal shook his head with disappointment,

“All this goes down and you’re still worried about my foul mouth.”

The Cardinal shrugged, “We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose.”

The room was heavy with words that Mickey refused to say and the Cardinal didn’t want to hear.

“Do you think you’ll be happy?” The elderly man asked finally, tired old eyes looking into young  
teary ones.

“Know I will be.”

“Then it was all for the best I suppose.” He said with a nod.

“Thanks for.. you know, everything,” Mickey sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand,  
“Saved my ass back there.”

“Saved your ass many times,” The Cardinal reminded him, drawing a smile from Mickey’s lips at  
the use of the colloquial term. He grinned, the expression on his face indicating that he had found  
himself amusing as well, “Now come give me a hug.”

Mickey crossed the room and leaned over, holding the only man who had ever acted like a father  
to him. He swallowed the emotion that was threating to pour from his eyes and turned to leave  
without another word.

“Mikhailo,” The Cardinal called feebly when Mickey opened the door.

The younger man looked over his shoulder, awaiting the statement.

“I hope you’ll pray.”

Mickey nodded and closed the door behind him, swallowing the sadness that was rising up in his  
throat as he made his way to see Svetlana.

“This is a strange turn of events, yes?” She said wrapping him up in her arms around Mickey as  
soon as he entered her room, “I saw Thomas and your Catholic on their way to his chambers.  
They looked pale as ghosts.”

“Don’t…” He began with a sigh, “mention ghosts.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she pulled away, “I have something for you. I was going to give  
it to you later this week, but I supposed now is as good a time as any.” She reached into her  
drawer and pulled out a vial, “This is mint oil. Use it as lubrication and you will have a beautifully  
tingling feeling while you fuck.”

Mickey raised impressed eyebrows and slid the tube into his bag, “Thanks for that.”

She waved her hands as if it was nothing.

“You gonna be alright?” He asked, running his thumb over his bottom lip and looking at her  
through his dark lashes.

She let out a wry laugh, “You should know better than anyone that I will be more than alright. I  
am the King’s whore now after all. I look forward to the gifts he will lavish on me and as long as I  
keep him pleased, I keep my head.”

“You were always the King’s whore,” He reminded her with a smirk.

She smiled, “You were a much easier King to be a whore for. I doubt King Charles will rub my  
feet when they’re tired from too much standing.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at the memory, “Annoy the hell outta him like you annoyed the hell outta  
me and he just might.”

She shrugged, “Still, I get what I want. I guess you have what you want now?”

He nodded and sighed, “Gonna be weird living there though.”

“You will learn that it doesn’t matter where you live. It is the same bullshit everywhere; some  
places just have a nicer view. It seems you now have a very nice one.”

“He’s alright,” He mused, grinning when she gave him another hug, “Take care of yourself,  
okay?”

“I always do. It will be easier now that I do not need to worry about taking care of you,” She  
teased, ruffling up his hair.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re gonna cry as soon as I leave the room,” He stated knowingly.

“I do not cry. Tears are strength leaving your body. I refuse to do it.”

“Why are your eyes getting all fucking wet then?” Mickey asked with a smirk, gesturing to  
emotion filled green eyes.

“It is because you smell so retched,” Svetlana taunted, holding back her smile.

“Mmmhmm. Been told I smell really good.”

“That is because you were the King. People felt compelled to lie to you. Now that you are a  
commoner you will learn the truth.”

“That right?” He challenged, the amusement dancing across his face.

“That’s right.” She confirmed.

“Yeah, well fuck you, Svet.”

“Fuck you too,” She replied, grinning at the finger he gave her as he left the room.

As Mickey made his way through the castle, he allowed his eyes to soak in the details he had so  
often overlooked being used to the grandeur of it all. The rich shades of red and gold no longer  
reminded him of wealth, but of his lover’s hair and the glint of his eyes. He wondered if he’d ever  
truly miss the space when everything he loved about it existed in Ian; Ian was the luxury of silk  
sheets as they brushed against his skin and the comfort of his plush bed. His body was the chiseled  
sculptures in the gardens and his lips the finest wine.

He hoisted his bag up higher on his shoulder as he ambled down uneven terrain towards the  
docks. In the distance he saw the flames of four candles, a beacon of light in the darkness calling  
him to Ian, calling him home.

Epilogue

_From Cardif , the XVIIJ of October, 1539  
Dear Mickey,  
Oh how times have changed, my friend. It’s been six months since that fateful night when we said  
our goodbyes and there is much to share in regards to life in Wales. Before I continue, I must  
assure you that though much of this information will come as a surprise to you, all those you hold  
dear are well or lived well in their final days.  
Cardinal Woolsmith made his way to the pearly gates of heaven only a few days after you  
absconded. He was sleeping peacefully when he journeyed back to the Lord, to whom he devoted  
his life. The righteous man was blessed by the Almighty, who spared him the pain he would have  
endured in seeing Wales conquered by England two weeks following his passing.  
As they usually are, the attack was unexpected. The English army took us from the North on a  
Sunday morning. Shamefully, we did not put up a fight as the shortsighted King Charles was  
unprepared, more consumed with the divvying of land to his kin and companions than war  
strategy. For this lack of vigilance, he paid with his head. Like his son he was hung, drawn and  
quartered. His limbs sat in town squares across the land and his head rotted on a stake at the  
entry of the Severn Bridge.  
Please tell Ian and Phillip that unlike Charles, their father’s execution was swift. He, along with  
all the rest of the prisoners locked in the Tower, was hung.  
Though it may sound absurd, life is much improved for me living under English rule. While most  
of the Court was banished from the Castle due to the threat of treason, I was asked to stay. It was  
understood that I was only loyal to the King in mind and not in heart. My superior knowledge of  
the land and respected history in battle has made me quite indispensable and for that, I am  
grateful. They have even promised a noble wife, who is almost as attractive as Princess Isabella,  
but sadly significantly less wanton.  
Speaking of wanton, Svetlana is doing well for herself. She keeps the company of the most  
powerful men and conquers them with more fervor than they took us with. She asked me to write  
something to you about your Catholic and mint, but I have no idea what she is talking about.  
We miss you and Mandy immensely and hope you are doing well. We often ponder how things  
would have been more unpleasant if you would have stayed, for we would have lost you instead of  
Charles. It seems your friendship with an Irishman gave you the luck of the Irish by proxy. My  
English comrades informed me that it was not the shift in power that prompted England to  
conquer us, but the knowledge that it was our plan that Ireland filched to take the Isle of Man.  
They saw Wales as a more cunning foe and thus deemed it necessary to overtake us.  
I hope you will be in touch soon, if not for any other reason than to tell me of , for I miss it so.  
I bid you farewell by saying long live my King.  
Your loving friend,  
Thomas ___

__"Fuck," Mickey breathed in astonishment, folding up the letter and looking over his shoulder at  
Ian, who had his arms wrapped around him as they sat on the cool, green grass on the edge of  
the Cliffs of Moher, "I'm sorry about Francis."_ _

__"That's the first thing you say?" Ian chided with a tisk, "Your country's been conquered and you  
would have been killed if it wasn't for that fucked up night."_ _

__"This is my country now," The brunet corrected, intertwining his fingers with the hands that were  
resting on his chest, "And it just proves the best thing I ever did was start banging you."_ _

__"King of Romance," Ian teased, kissing his boyfriend on the cheek as the chilly ocean air rolled  
over them, causing them both to shiver and hold the other tighter, "Are you alright? I mean,  
Cardinal Woolsmith, Wales, it's a lot to take in."_ _

__"It is, but I said goodbye to him months ago knowing I would never see him again. He was old  
and lived a full life and Wales..." He paused and shook his head, "Feels like a lifetime ago and a  
life I'd never want to live." He gazed out the sea, understanding the beauty that Ian had described  
to him when they'd first met, realizing how visualizing the place had gotten his lover through the  
difficult times, "This is where I feel alive. Your home. Your clif s. You."_ _

__"Tá sé seo do theach freisin. Is iad seo do chuid aillte," Ian whispered, "This is your home, too.  
These are your cliffs."_ _

__"And you?" Mickey asked, squeezing his hands tightly._ _

__"I'm yours and you're mine. Is breá liom tú, mo fhear álainn," He crooned.  
"Is breu liom du," The brunet attempted, laughing as he butchered the words._ _

__"Close." The redhead smiled and caught his lips for a sweet kiss._ _

__"I love you, too." Mickey grinned, feeling like he was where he was always meant to be, "for as  
long as I live, I'll love you."_ _

__"And after?" Ian prodded with a chuckle._ _

__"Forever."_ _


End file.
